


Midland Flower, Desert Rose

by Silif



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Astrologian Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Bard Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), F/M, Final Fantasy XIV: A Realm Reborn, Final Fantasy XIV: Heavensward, Gen, Minor Aymeric de Borel/Warrior of Light
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-08
Updated: 2020-06-18
Packaged: 2020-08-16 02:28:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 43,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20165275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silif/pseuds/Silif
Summary: In Eorzea, some say that the Warriors of Light were born with the Mothercrystal’s blessing; chosen from the many preconceived souls of the aether. Others believe that while greatness is something that a privileged few are born into, true heroism is something that all should aspire, a pillar of humanity that anyone can live up to. But Hydaelyn chooses Her champions by machinations of her own, while surrendering Her gifts to the capricious nature of mankind’s free will.And in this world wherein heroes and adventurers are part of the humdrum of every corner, one bard’s journey will change the fate of the realm.A character expository-centric adaptation of Final Fantasy XIV. (Back from hiatus!!!)





	1. Chapter 1

**Prologue: A Meeting, not by Chance**

> ** _“Hear… Feel.”_ **
> 
> ** _“Think.”_ **
> 
> **She was dreaming; weightlessly dreaming. And as always, that voice, _Her_ voice, whispered in her ears. Before her shone a single azure crystal. If she tried to take hold of it, it would hover just above her hands, resonating with a power that echoed in her soul.**
> 
> **She turned, the crystal between her hands, and watched the myriad stars spiral around her, the wonder of the universe strewn before her reverie. She drew the crystal close to her bosom, and it glimmered radiantly before entering her body.**

Linaria opened her eyes.

* * *

Ordinarily, she would never start her day as late as noontime, but her recent travels gave her cause for an exception. By no means did she regret agreeing to travel to the hub leaders of Limsa Lominsa and Gridania to pass on Raubahn’s missive, but being put in the position of the primary envoy of Ul’dah still felt like an honor that she didn’t quite deserve; and hence, her trek around Eorzea with naught but her uncertainty to keep her company was far less pleasant than the sight-seeing tour it could’ve been. And at the same time, the effort to be mindful and grateful of her position was very much an active effort, especially in conflict with her dogmatic outlook of self-forgetting — she truly believed that her successes were the results of lucky circumstance more than personal aptitude. Anyone with her level of talents could have accomplished the same feats, but she was often the one in the right place, at the right time.

Some might call that fate. Linaria found it a reason to hunker down in the adventurer’s guild and detox herself in the company of the Hourglass’s proprietor, Mistress Momodi. The ever-forceful Lalafel was an accomplice to be reckoned with; when it came to divulging stories of wayward adventures, she could always be relied upon to assist one in drowning their woes in a flagon of ale and conversation.

And thus, she found herself sitting at the centre counter within the Quicksand, watching Momodi tut at various patrons and adventurers from behind the bar, perched on a stool to stand at the height of the average Hyur. Nursing her hangover with a glass of freshly-squeezed orange juice from the more temperate climates of La Noscea, chasing away Ul’dah’s arid desert air, she was content to watch the clock tick past noon, without the worry of any commitments for the day. She shifted a bit in her seat, adjusting the skirts of her tabard more comfortably, and took another long draught.

“Here’s your rabbit pie, madam.” One of the familiar barkeeps came by and slid a dish in front of Linaria. She nodded her thanks, her neutral expression ghosting into a smile for a brief moment. Fishing into the satchel at her side, she fetched a piece of gil to tip the waiter, and he bowed courteously before disappearing into the back once again.

“It’s just called ‘rabbit’ pie because it looks like a bunny,” Momodi’s voice came from behind the bar. She had somehow dispelled the group of adventurers, and was dragging her stool over to stand in front of Linaria. “I don’t think it’s anything more than mutton an’ veggies in there, though. Not to disappoint.”

Linaria dug her fork into the rabbit-shaped pastry, and the scent of fresh, hot stew wafted up to greet her. “I wasn’t raised to be picky, Momodi,” she scooped a corner into her mouth, unflinching as it singed her tongue a bit. “The food here is consistently decent — and that’s more than can be said for some other establishments.”

“Ye don’t say,” Momodi grinned. “Eh, I like to make sure the folks I take some responsibility for go out there with a full belly; if they’re never leaving with the guarantee of a safe return, I’d hate for their spiteful ghosts to come back and haunt these kitchens for spitefulness over a foul last supper.” Linaria laughed at that, covering her mouth. Momodi smirked. “You oughta laugh more often, Linaria. It’s a good look for you.”

She met Momodi’s amused ribbing with a wry, distant smile. Her hair fell over her odd-colored eye, and she sighed. “A man back home used to say the same. Not that I ever thought to listen to him.”

“‘Eh, an_ ex?_” Momodi spluttered. “You never told me anything about a beau of your own.”

“Not much to tell there,” Linaria shrugged, bemused. She contemplated whether the sweetness of the orange juice would complement or clash with the savory pie, and took the risk with a swig. It wasn’t unpleasant. “Just another person left behind when I came here. It was… nothing special. Life on the road seemed more appealing than settling down, even though I had rapport with so many people in the region back home.”

“You’re doin’ quite well for yourself here, though,” Momodi rested her elbows on the bar, having taken Linaria’s lead in losing interest on the subject of her former love life. “Even _you_ can’t deny that. You’re a bit of a star — an _adventurer’s adventurer!_”

“I wouldn’t go that far.” Above the sounds of conversation and people coming and going, they heard wing-beats approaching. Linaria looked up as her hunting hawk landed on her shoulder. “Good morning, Zephyr.” The bird _hrr’ed, _tipping her head to the side accusingly. “Yes, I know it’s nearly the afternoon.” Linaria offered her a sliver of pie, and Zephyr accepted the offering.

“Don’t feed your pet on my bar,” Momodi scowled. “I deal with enough riffraff coming in and out with their little companions as is, the last thing I need is bird bombs on my—

_“Aieeeeeeee!” _A high-pitched wail came from outside, ruffling Zephyr’s feathers and causing Momodi to nearly fall off her stool. “Someone, please! Help!”

Peace and quiet was _always_ too good of a notion to be true. Linaria’s glass and fork were swiftly replaced by the cold metal of her magitek bow, accompanied by the rattling of her quiver as she flew out the door.

* * *

_A short while later._

The locals were _clapping_. Linaria always thought that was in poor taste; for a battle-dancer, perhaps applause would have been relevant, but this? She eyed the bodyguards cowering on the street. In a situation like this, of course she would never shoot to kill, but a well-placed shot to the leg had them out of commission.

“I’m… I’m not getting paid enough for this!” The groveling man reeked of alcohol. “And… and I shoulda stopped at the ninth flagon. Urk…”

“Verily,” Linaria grimaced. She turned her attention to the merchant, backpedaling behind his bodyguards. “I’ve said it once before, and I’ll say it again — what you’re accusing this woman of is nothing but profiteering disinformation. I _saw_ her purchase that meat from you. There was no thievery involved.”

The merchant sneered. “What do you mean, ‘I _saw_ her?’ You weren’t even there!” Linaria’s head throbbed. Would that she _hadn’t_ seen it. The strange visions of others’ pasts always came with a dizzy spell — or, at worst, a fainting episode.

_“I_ was there!” An arbitrary pedestrian shouted from the sidelines. “And I saw it too! So stop pestering the poor woman!”

“I… I swear it,” the woman in question peered over Linaria’s shoulder, teary-eyed. “I wanted only to buy a nice meal for my children… with the coin I had saved up.”

“I believe you,” Linaria soothed. “And you have no cause to let this man’s fabrications tarnish your well wishes. Go on; you can head home. I’ll finish dealing with this mess here.”

“Aye,” the woman sniffled. “Thank you, milady… truly, truly— thank you!” Clutching her parcel to her chest, the woman took off down the street, towards the slums.

Linaria turned her attention back to the merchant. He leered back at her. “You folk are always meddling in affairs that are not your own… and _you_ are the most disgusting sort; the kind that certainly has more grand ventures afield, but lingers in the city to practically _whore_ themselves out in the name of doing ‘good’ for the—”

She lifted her bow, and it whirred back to life as she leveled an arrow at the man. “Judging someone by the condition of their bearing or possessions is what’s _despicable_. What I choose to preoccupy myself with is my business, not yours.”

“I don’t buy your bluff. As if you’d really shoot me in the street, right here?” He scoffed. She loosed the arrow, careful to bury it past him in a bed of flowers, but taking a chunk off of his ear as it flew. “Aaagh!” He slammed a hand to the side of his head, stemming the bleeding. “How dare you!?” An apple core flew from the wings and struck the merchant on the other side of his head.

“Get lost, scum!”

“Yeah, if you know what’s good for ya!”

Linaria stared the merchant down steadily as the locals jeered at him. Finally, it was enough.

“Whatever,” he spat on the ground. “I truly despise unfinished business, but there’s nothing more to be gained from trading words here.” Kicking one of his bodyguards, he turned heel. “Come, you worthless sell-swords. Get up, we’re going home.”

The crowd laughed him off, and then began to slowly disperse as the merchant and his wounded escorts shuffled away. Linaria relaxed her shoulders, letting out a long puff of air. Her bow powered down as her hand dropped to her side, the stabilizers sliding smoothly back into place against the main limbs. She returned it into place across her back without much thought.

* * *

When she had first arrived in Eorzea proper, there were times where she’d seriously considered trading her bow for a more _discreet_ weapon. Magitek technology was very, very uncommon around those parts, and though the bow had been a gift from her late father’s Free Company, to the casual observer it marked her as some rich foreigner. But as she indoctrinated herself more and more to Eorzea’s rhythm of tending to the locals’ issues and contributing to greater squabbles alongside other adventurers, both new and experienced, her worries gradually melted away. Amidst the ornately-armored Dragoons of Coerthas and the ever-extravagant red mages, a fancy weapon would not draw an excessive degree of contemplation.

And that was exactly how she liked it. To Linaria Stormchaser, daughter to a renowned adventurer and an equally acclaimed armorer and seamstress, all adventurers were just partitions of a much larger system. When you’re a single drop in a massive ocean, it matters not if you’re rainwater, or the finest liquor… or _La Noscean orange juice_. There were others like her – other crystal-bearers, others gifted with strange, ethereal powers – and though they may be few and far between, each of them was wont to choose their own paths. Some had become grand leaders of companies and guilds, or climbed their way to a position of power through meritocracy. But Linaria was content without all that. If she could serve a simple cause, to a first-rate degree, that was far more satisfying than the glory of fame or fortune.

But yet, her life lacked _something_. The harder she thought to pursue that missing piece, the farther out of reach it seemed. She had left behind her family, her hometown, her laid-out future with a quite well-to-do man, all without much regret: it was her duty, as with any other individual possessing her calibre of aptitude in war or magic, to serve the greater good, not settle down to a cozy life. In her upbringing, her mother and father were never overly emotionally involved, and that translated to her own out-of-touch emotions.She was self-assured in her place in the world; but yet, there was always that nagging feeling of _seeking_ something.

Time and time again, she dismissed it. What use was it pursuing an empty thought, without concrete direction — especially when there were so many issues before her that she _did_ know how to fix?

* * *

“All’s well that ends well!” A male voice, one she’d heard on _many_ occasions by then. Linaria turned, blinking stoically as the speaker sauntered up.

“Thancred.”

He flashed his charming grin, tossing a lock of his ash-colored hair out of his face. “We meet again! Come now, one bard to another — you can’t be the least bit happy to see me again?”

Upon their first meeting, Linaria had been caught off-guard by the handsome stranger’s coquettish demeanor and charm. But subsequently – and through her inexplicable visions of insight to the man’s past – his personality rather quickly unraveled into a rather predictable pattern of _profuse_ flirtation… With anything female and within a hundred yalms’ radius. 

“Pray do not mistake my intent,” he continued. “for it is _always_ honorable—but I have been watching you ever since you departed Ul’dah. You were an envoy of perfection: a confident diplomat, yet unfailingly courteous to your betters.” Thancred paced before her as he spoke, waving his hand dramatically. “And when your travels lead you time and time again into the midst of danger, you faced it without so much as a flinch. You are quite a marvel, my lady, and I confess to being quite taken with you! A striking blossom amidst the endless flower-fields, a…”

Grounded as ever in her bearing, Linaria sighed. “Much as I appreciate your lavish praise, Thancred,” she said graciously, giving him a polite bow. “…what is it I can do for you?”

Thancred winced. “Ever to the point. What this leads me to conclude is that you are indeed the woman I have been looking for.”

A stranger whom she had encountered time and time again, with an ulterior motive? She was unsurprised. “Pray, do explain.”

“As _unbelievable_ as it may seem, I am not your everyday wandering, scholarly soul researching aether – contrary to my previous disclosure of my occupation.” Thancred tapped the side of his nose, a twinkle in his brown eyes. “I am part of an organization dedicated to aetherical abnormalities, but more specifically, those pertaining to individuals such as yourself, my lady, who possess a very particular gift. If my observations are accurate, I speak of your visions.”

There was little point in feigning ignorance. She folded her arms. “Tell me more.”

He grinned again, pleased to have her attention. “Further explanation would be delivered better by the head of my order. I would extend to you an invitation to meet with us at our headquarters – but for security reasons, Mistress Momodi must be the one to divulge its secret location to you. Just let her know that the Scions have found their woman.”

_So Momodi is in on this clandestine organization, then. _Linaria paused for a moment, pondering on his words and proposition. Truthfully, she would know more of the visions that frequented her mind at both convenient and inconvenient times. And if there was someone out there who could provide answers, perhaps it was worth the endeavor.

“I’ll discuss it with Momodi,” she decided. “But if anything she discloses doesn’t add up with what you’ve spoken of, do not expect me to come wandering in to a very possible… mugging.”

Thancred laid a hand over his heart. “M-my lady, you do _wound_ me so. On my word, my kind and I always and ever act in the best interest of all; and for Eorzea as a whole.” He cleared his throat. “All this being said, there are errands that I must needs finish in this lovely city ere the day reaches its conclusion. I do hope that we shall speak again soon, Linaria.”

He winked, and she responded with a resigned nod. Unfazed, he sauntered off down the street, whistling to himself.

If nothing else, she had to credit him for being able to hold a tune.

* * *

She waited until the evening to press Momodi for information. There was plenty of business to attend to in the city — when not otherwise occupied by adventuring work, Linaria did well to keep busy in her tradecraft, and had become an invaluable colleague to Ul’dah’s local weaver’s guild. She knew that her mother would be _aghast_ if she knew that her daughter was taking commissions to clothe noblemen and women in silk gowns rather than creating adventurer’s gear of the ilk that her family was so famous for, but for Linaria’s own part, productivity that brought in coin was all the same. As she made her way into the Quicksand that evening, she noted a few loose threads on her own tabard, and made mental note to run some repairs in her room before departing anywhere the next day. 

The adventurer’s guild was busy as ever in the early night hours, but a seat for one was not hard to come by. And as soon as Momodi caught sight of Linaria sidling into a barstool, she shoo’ed way the other customers pestering her with questions that could be answered otherwise by the Quicksand’s other employees, and proceeded to drag her stool back over to Linaria’s spot.

“What can I help ya with, m’dear?”

“Tell me more about Thancred Waters,” Linaria cradled her fresh mug of orange juice, “and these ’Scions’ of his.” From somewhere up in the rafters, Zephyr fluttered down to perch on the tip of Linaria’s bow, which was resting by her side. The bird _chirr’ed_ expectantly. “Sorry, girl – nothing to share here.”

Momodi scowled at the hawk. “Thancred, eh? I knew it was only a matter of time before this came up, since the two of ya were acquainted. Aside from the long trail of pining maidens he leaves in his wake, he’s the Scions’ point-man in Ul’dah.”

“But what does that mean_?_” Linaria took a long sip.

“The Scions of the Seventh Dawn are an unaffiliated organisation, that serves Eorzea as a whole,” Momodi began to explain. “Though there certainly ain’t too many of them, it’s because they’re very selective of whom they allow within their ranks. In particular, I mean, it’s singularly those with particularly _special_ gifts, such as yourself, who also happen to prove ‘emselves to not be just another crackpot adventurer.”

“There are plenty of other heroes out there with abnormal abilities.”

“Dismissive as ever,” Momodi scoffed. “I’m tellin’ ya, you’re far more special than you give yourself credit for, my girl. Or perhaps old Thancred has taken a particular shine to ya and it’s just his ulterior motives at work.” The Lalafel smirked, but was disheartened at Linaria’s unamused expression. “I’m just kidding with ya. Truly. I’ve been waitin’ for him to send someone my way with his brand of approval. And for what it’s worth, you’ve got _my_ ringing endorsement as well.

“Think of it this way, Linaria.” Momodi leaned forwards on her elbows. “I know you’re the sort to pick up errands and opportunities to solve problems indiscriminately, but at the enda the day, you still show up here lookin’ like a lost kite figuring out where to drift next. The Scions can offer you the direction and purpose that your lackin’ right now in your career. Give ‘em a shot.”

_An organization that serves Eorzea as a whole._ Linaria pondered on Momodi’s description. “Perhaps you’re right.”

“I’m always right,” Momodi puffed out her cheeks. “I’ll take that as your acquiescence. You’ll find the lot of them in a place called the Waking Sands. It’s out in Vesper Bay, past Horizon — I believe you’re familiar with old Fufulupa over there, aren’tcha?”

“Quite.” She had run many an errand for the Brass Blades in Western Thanalan. “Very well then. Since you’re insistent as ever.”

“If you don’t sleep in as ungracefully late as ya did today, I’ll let ‘em know to expect you tomorrow.”

“…Pray do so.”

The proprietor laughed heartily. “You’re too easy to pick on, ya know that? Anyroad, make sure you get a good meal in. You’ll have a hard time findin’ cooks out there as good as the ones we got here. Another rabbit pie, perhaps? On the house, since ya had to run off on your last one for do-goodin’ and whatnot.”

“I suppose it would be impolite to turn down your generosity,” Linaria smiled. “Especially if I am not to return to Ul’dah for a few days.”

Momodi smirked as she hopped off her stool to badger her cooks. “If all goes well, here’s hopin’ they’ll keep ya.”

* * *

> **_Mistress Momodi’s Accounts_**
> 
> Stormchaser, Linaria. Midlander Hyur, female, mid-twenties. Notably accomplished with the bow and associated bard’s battle-magicks, as well as a good touch o’ craftsmanship in the likes of gear-making. Might know that surname by her father; Thordr Stormchaser—Thal rest his soul—a most wonderful warrior of his own name.
> 
> I’d think his daughter moseyed up to Eorzea proper to follow in her father’s footsteps, but this girl seems to lack that self-righteous air that so many adventurers tout about – then again, they’re the sort of folk who come by to live a reckless life and then march off and die the next day. We get a lout every now and then “blessed” with the Echo, but most of them use it as a road to fame. This miss wouldn’t know hubris if it smacked ‘er in the face. Hells, if it had been anyone else, I wouldn’ta believed that she didn’t _know_ was the Sultana she rescued that one day; old Papashan’s aliases of discretion are _hardly_ ever effective.
> 
> Seems that Her Grace and her court set Linaria a bit on edge, though. Who can blame her? In a city like this, it’s one end of the economic spectrum or the other, and the disparity can be a bit _jarrin’,_ to say the least.
> 
> All the same, can’t say I’m surprised Minfilia’s got an eye on her.

* * *


	2. Chapter 2

### 

**Chapter One: The Scions of the Seventh Dawn**

An open window to her master’s inn room at the Hourglass was invitation enough; thusly, Zephyr swooped onto Linaria’s shoulder, tugging at her hair rather un-gently. She blinked blearily, swatting at her bird. “Enough of that…”

Zephyr moved to the bed-post, leaving inevitable talon-marks on the varnished wood. Linaria stretched her arms over her head and yawned, rolling off of the plush mattress unenthusiastically. “I’m awake.” She glanced at the sky through her window, noting the rising sun’s placement amidst the azure. _Early enough yet for a meal before heading out,_ she decided, and set about dressing for the day.

Satisfied with her work, Zephyr gave an approving screech and took off to the desert, in search of her own breakfast.

* * *

Within the hour, Linaria was making her way through the Gate of the Sultana, exiting the city into Thanalan proper. A smattering of her personal belongings hanging off of her shoulder in a satchel and quiver rattling comfortingly on her back, she tipped her face into the sunlight and took a deep breath of the dry, but clear air. Beautiful as it was, Ul’dah’s true beauty lay certainly not in the scents of her streets. In the skies above, Zephyr circled on the thermals, ever watchful. 

Briefly, Linaria pondered renting a porter. The trip to Vesper Bay would certainly be expedited by a chocobo, but her experiences with the land-birds were few and far between, given her unfortunate sense of balance in a saddle. She shook her head. The road and her own two legs would get her to western Thanalan in an hour or two, and that would do just fine. Perhaps she would break in Horizon, if the heat grew too harsh.

She adjusted her bow and satchel, and set off purposefully. But she had made it no more than a few yalms before her a white-haired man perching on a rock by the wayside caught her attention. He grinned as she approached.

“And fancy seeing _you_ here, my lady.”

“…Good morning, Thancred.” She eyed the roguish bard suspiciously. “Were you just… _waiting_ there?”

“Indeed I was,” he hopped off of his rock, dusting his trousers off and spinning a dagger hanging off of his belt. “On the gamble that you would be taking me up on my offer. Mind you, I’ve made quite the sacrifice in spending my morning awaiting your arrival; Ul’dah has no shortage of fair maidens to pass the—”

“Did someone ask you to escort me?” Linaria interjected. She realized the interruption would perhaps be more brusque than intended, and added, “Either way, how very, erm… gentlemanly, of you.”

“Chivalry is the most telling feature of any man.” He placed a hand on his heart and bowed. “Now then, shall we?”

She gave a resigned nod, but just as soon, Zephyr landed heavily on her shoulder. She screeched disapprovingly at Linaria’s surprise traveling companion. Linaria reached up and scratched the downy feathers on the falcon’s breast. “It’s alright, Zeph. He won’t bite.” She glanced over at Thancred, pointing at the bird on her shoulder. “She does, though.”

“Lovely Zephyr,” Thancred took a fearless stride over to walk closer by Linaria’s side, peering over in an attempt to charm the bird. “Your hostility is unwarranted, I assure you. I have only the best intentions for your mistress’s safe travels.” Zephyr clicked her beak in warning. A hint of dried blood from her morning hunt still stained her long talons, and Thancred wisely sidled away.

Linaria was not often one for small talk. But in the presence of Thancred’s cripplingly gregarious personality, she felt obliged to fill the space in dialogue, even if only to say, “I would offer up a road-tale of my recent adventures, but as per your own admittance, it would seem that you’re appraised enough of my affairs as it is.”

“Quite so.” He took no offense at her weighted words. “But that’s not to say that I have no interest in hearing you speak more about yourself, my lady.”

“None of that ‘my lady’ business, pray,” Linaria winced. “I’ve had quite enough of formalities in the last few days.”

“As you wish, Stormchaser,” Thancred never missed a beat. “But really — won’t you indulge me in a telling word or two? It has been quite a while since we first met under the Sultantree, in the cooperative endeavor to protect Her Grace; that was only a few days exceeding your arrival in Eorzea proper, was it not?”

“Hm. I believe so; yes.” The early days of her Eorzean career already felt like such a blur.

“You still have the Crystal, I hope?”

Linaria’s hand unconsciously went to her chest. “Yes, of course.” She hesitated for a moment. “But that was not the first occasion on which I encountered the… out-of-body experiences.”

Thancred hummed. “I wouldn’t think so. Crystals of Light do not _happen_ into the hands of any ordinary man or woman. Those who bear them are preordained to be worthy long before their first encounter.”

“Heh. Yet at the same time, not everyone who fancies themself a rock collector ends up a Warrior of Light.”

“Ah! You are familiar with the Meteor incident, then?”

She looked at him out of the corner of her eye, briefly. He was staring at her intently, paying a hazardously mediocre amount of attention to the path they were walking upon. _A stray rock could be the death of him,_ she thought. “Of course. Who isn’t?”

“But those who _think_ they are familiar are oft not quite so. Most know it only as the heralding event of the Calamity; the details of the actual Battle of Carteneau are few and far between.”

Linaria obliged him as he continued – in spite of his earlier plea to hear _her_ stories, Thancred seemed quite ready to spin his own. _Spin_, she defined, for it was true; she had yet to meet two people who had aligning stories regarding Carteneau.

“It was, most ironically, in an attempt to purge the land of primals that the Garleans brought down the red moon on the Carteneau flats and unleashed the calamity upon Eorzea. Most say that they did not know of Bahamut’s imprisonment in the moon of Dalamund, but when the satellite burst open into so many pieces that rained down from the heavens, and the Elder Dragon burst forth, his rage was so unceasing, so _unyielding_ from his years of imprisonment that none could argue the dragon had been held there for eons beyond man’s counting. And so it was that all eyes turned to Bahamut, as the Garleans fled and the armies of Eorzea’s three Grand Companies were forced to retreat. Eorzea’s last hope was a small party of adventurers and the archmage Louisoix and his imprisonment ritual — but that, too failed.

“Yet the day was _not_ lost. The battlefield was engulfed by a flood of brilliant light, which swept across the land. In the last linkshell communication the Company leaders received, they were told that Louisoix would be transporting the adventurers into an aetherial rift, that they may be delivered to safety. But alas! When the light cleared from the battlefield, none remained: not one of those brave souls, Bahamut, nor Louisoix himself. And to make matters worse, we don’t even remember the—”

“The names of those we lost,” Linaria said quietly, finishing the story in his stead. “Yes, that much, it seems, everyone agrees upon. Hence the name, ‘the Warriors of Light.’ Quite the flowery, _abstract_ title for those who gave everything to save the world.”

“If there were any who remembered their identities, their names would be etched across every stone and placard in memoriam across Eorzea,” Thancred said solemnly. “But we do not. It is not simply a matter of just _forgetting_, mind you. Whatever happened that sealed the fates of those adventurers, Louisoix, and the elder primal alike; it happened by the will of man and gods combined. Only through such a union could so great a deed have come to pass, or so I must needs believe!” He laughed, rather forcedly. “But what say you, Stormchaser? Do you believe in the will of the gods, or do you think man’s destiny is his own to write?”

“Hm.” She hummed in thought, plucking idly at the bow-string across her chest with one gloved finger. “I certainly know that there are things greater than you and I,” she said slowly. “And surely the gods _must_ exist, for all those who know their tales and have such fervent faith… yet, I still wonder at why, if they are so all-powerful, they continue to allow such calamities to ravage the land. Why divine beings would sit up in their seats in the sky while the Umbral Eras cover the world for years at a time.”

“Is that why you adventure, then?” Thancred asked, suddenly.

“…Pardon?”

“Your belief that the gods – that those with power to change the world, sit idly and do nothing. Is that why you have taken it upon yourself to go out there and do something?”

Linaria frowned. “If you’re asking whether I consider myself a divine being because I make a habit of solving peoples’ problems, the answer is no.”

“Of course that is not what I am asking!” Thancred trotted a few steps forwards, that he might start walking _backwards,_ to give Linaria his best serious stare. “I’m asking if your conviction to do good stems from the complacency of others who _could_ be doing more, but do not, for one reason or another.”

“Yes,” Linaria nodded. “I suppose that would be correct.”

“Gods,” Thancred rolled his eyes in mock-exasperation. “You’re terribly difficult to compliment or get to know, aren’t you? I never have the issue of women taking _offense_ when I try offer them praise, of all things.”

Linaria laughed.

“…_NOW_ you laugh!?” Thancred threw his arms up in frustration. “What to do about this one…?” He muttered, under his breath.

* * *

Surprisingly, the pair managed to make it past Fufulupa’s inevitable lunch invitation with his Brass Blades – which would also inevitably lead to a day-long celebration of camaraderie and tales of heroic deeds involving the entire population of Horizon – and found themselves on the winding path through the marsh that sat between Horizon and Vesper Bay. Orobons and other amphibious mobs lurked at the water’s edge; the occasional adventurer or fisher-person whom Linaria had previously met on her travels offered an amiable wave or greeting, but neither stopped the two travelers on their trek. 

At the end of the short span of marshland, a long tunnel led into Vesper Bay. The scent of salted seawater drifted through on the breeze, mingled with the all-too-distinctive taint of chocobo porters going about their business. The town itself just beyond was about as small as Linaria had anticipated; the streets were cobbled with the same masonry style that the major regions of Thanalan seemed so fond of, with marbled sandstone bricks laying out a cozy little plaza at the center of town. A few shopkeepers stood by their tents, patiently awaiting patrons, and the occasional traffic flow through the door under the hanging sign that read _“tavern”_ bespoke of adventurers coming and going.

Thancred saw her observing the town, and said, “If you’d fancy a brief tour, I would be most happy to oblige.” Linaria shook her head.

“I’m here on business, and discipline demands that it stays so.”

He huffed. “All work and no play makes for a dry and empty life, you know.”

She was a bit disconcerted by his emphasis on the word _play._ “Lead on, please.” Her guide sighed in resignation, resting his hands on top of his head as he moseyed onwards.

They descended a short flight of stairs, entering a building just by the water’s edge. Thancred held the door for her, and she nodded her thanks, stepping into the room beyond.

It was small, cozily furnished, and Linaria immediately surmised that this could not be the headquarters that she anticipated. Rather than guards, Brass Blades, or adventurers on duty, there was a single occupant: a singing Lalafell, standing on top of her chair and bobbing along to the tune.

> ♪ Deep in the desert of my heart,
> 
> ♪ A lonely flower blooms
> 
> ♪ Yearning for the heavens above—

Unlike the two bards present, this Lalafell was just dissonant enough that her notes were so close to being on-pitch, and yet inexplicably a smidge above or below the desired note, coming to a rather cacophonous mess. Thancred cleared his throat.

“Tataru?”

The Lalafell jumped a good few ilms into the air, somehow managing to not go careening off of the stool in the process. She caught sight of the pair standing just beyond the threshold.

“I would thank you not to sneak up on me like that!” She put her hands on her hips and huffed.

Tataru’s reaction had made Linaria jump vicariously, and she placed a hand over her chest before offering a polite bow of greeting. “Miss Taru, I apologise if our arrival came as a surprise. Thancred had promised me that it would not be unexpected.” She glanced at him accusingly.

He winced under her glower. “Erm, I did send word, though. Tataru, if you would kindly check the ledger? This is Linaria. Minfilia ought to be expecting her.”

Tataru adjusted her felt hat, the feather wiggling purposefully as she turned to the massive book on the table before her, filled with line after line of neat handwriting. “Let’s see…” she paused for a moment, and laughed nervously before addressing Linaria. “Pray do not mistake my hesitation for a lack of hospitality; I just need to make sure that you’re not, erm… another of Thancred’s fleeting affairs. We’ve told him to stop bringing them home here, but—”

“Tataru, please??” Thancred interrupted, flustered. Tataru’s button-shaped nose crinkled in amusement, reflected in the twinkle of her dark brown eyes, the shape and uniform shade shared by many of her race.

“Okay, okay… calm down. Let’s see: Linaria… Linaria…? Ah! There you are. Linaria Stormchaser. Is that you?”

She nodded in affirmation. Tataru clasped her hands together in satisfaction at her success. “Great! Let’s go downstairs, then. Minfilia and the others will be so excited to meet you!” And just like that, with a definitive Lalafell strut, she was gone — at surprising speed, too, disappearing down the stairs to the lower level and leaving naught but the swinging doors in her wake.

Thancred smiled apologetically. “Pray do not fault her… overzealousness. Tataru is a kind soul. Shall we, then?” Linaria hesitated, and he did not fail to take notice. “What bothers you?”

Perhaps it was just the anticipation, but the veil before her masked an unknown future. She wasn’t sure what exactly she expected, but an odd passing feeling of anxiety gnawed at her chest. “It’s… nothing.” Not wanting to pursue the uncertainty, she took a few purposeful steps in the way Tataru had gone, and was relieved to hear Thancred following behind.

Beyond the doors to the lower level, the atmosphere completely changed. The hall was not extravagant, but still of notably fine craftsmanship; it was well-lit and welcoming, especially surprising to find in a place like Vesper Bay. The humble front did well to hide the hall from wandering souls.

“Welcome to the Waking Sands,” Thancred gesticulated broadly. “I shall happily tour you about later, if you’d fancy, but first we ought to make for the solar.” Linaria nodded obediently, and allowed him to take the lead. From one of the branching hallways, she heard distant conversation — a gathering hall, perhaps?

Her curiosity was washed away by her attention being demanded of the conspicuous guards that stood watch outside of the solar. They nodded to Thancred as he and Linaria approached. “This is she, I presume?”

“You presume correctly,” Thancred grinned. The guard saluted, and proceeded to open the doors for them.

The solar beyond was furnished as finely as the Grand Admiral’s, but not as gaudy as the halls of the Sultana in Ul’dah. Linaria’s eyes roamed the rows of colorful and antiquated books adorning the shelves, the rich weaving on the plush carpet, and the cozy table nestled off to the side, before her attention was drawn to the head of the room. Beneath a massive glass case, wherein a splintered staff laid broken in three places, was a large desk with a woman seated behind it. A hooded Elezen and a Miqo’te conjurer stood to her right, while a masked, female Hyur and another Lalafell were bantering animatedly on the other side. As the doors opened, their attention turned to the arrivals.

The woman wearing the mask bounced up and down in excitement. She had a set of pugilist’s gauntlets swinging at her waist, which clattered loudly. The Lalafell scowled. “Yda, could you _please_ stop making such a racket?” Thancred sidled off to take his place next to the Elezen, filling out the room’s population. The woman in the center stood with a smile, and strode around to stand in front of her desk, her hands folded behind her back.

She was dressed rather casually, in a midriff-baring dress, decorated with plates of metal here and there. Her purple gloves went all the way up to her forearms, framing her narrow shoulders with a tidy touch to her attire. Pausing a short, but comfortable distance from Linaria, she smiled warmly. “So you are the adventurer of whom I have heard so much. Well met, friend. My name is Minfilia, and I lead the Scions of the Seventh Dawn.”

Minfilia’s smile was warm and welcoming, her voice lighthearted and earnest. Yet under the scrutinizing stares of the other three strangers in the room, _two_ of whom impossible to make eye contact with, as a result of the hood and mask, Linaria shifted her weight uncomfortably, acutely aware of the slight squeak of her boots

“Please, be at ease. You are among friends here,” Minfilia assured. Linaria found herself calmed by the certainty in Minfilia’s sapphire eyes, the same hue as a pure aether crystal. From the sidelines, Thancred nodded reassuringly. Linaria cleared her throat.

“I thank you for your invitation, my lady,” she said, a bit stiffly. _I would offer introductions, but it would seem that would be unnecessary, _she thought to herself.

Minfilia laughed. “I shall do the talking for now, then. First, let me begin by telling you who we are and what we do.” She leaned back against the edge of her desk. “The Scions of the Seventh Dawn is an order that transcends political boundaries. We have but one objective: the preservation of the future of Eorzea. Therefore, one of our greatest concerns is the godlike beings known as primals. Their very existence is a bane upon he world at large, and we have striven to find a lasting solution to the threat they pose.

“Our order is home to a number of individuals who, like you, possess a rare and special talent; a blessing from the Mothercrystal, Hydaelyn. This talent can take many forms — but one holds particular interest for us: a power known as the Echo. It is the power to transcend the boundaries of the soul.”

Graciously, she paused, allowing Linaria a moment to digest. Linaria ran her thumb along her bowstring once more. “The soul, you say… Do continue.”

“The sudden, inexplicable losses of consciousness, the sensation of being pulled away from reality, the visions of hovering in space, a mind without a body… Though they may have seemed hindrances at times, all these are manifestations of your talent. In practice, by passing through the walls of a man’s soul, you hear the resonation of his past; you see it as he lived it. You are there in his memories – you may even interact with that which you see, though you cannot change the outcome of events.” Minfilia smiled. “It is a shame that we cannot use it whensoever we choose.”

“We?” Linaria echoed. A wry smile was forming on her lips, mirrored by the twinkle in Minfilia’s eyes. No wonder this woman knew so much of the troubling symptoms.

“That’s right. I, too, possess the Echo.” Minfilia placed a hand over her own bosom, looking almost prayerful. “Linaria, I know not what it is you desire for yourself, nor what it was that first brought you to Eorzea. But I firmly believe that the talent we possess was given to us for a purpose. Why else would the gods entrust man with a gift so extraordinary, if not to have him use it? And so I implore you: lend us your power.”

“So, how do those blessed with the… that is, how do _we_ go about using this ‘Echo’ in the practical sense; if, as you said, we cannot employ it at our own discretion?” Linaria asked.

“Antecedent, allow me to explain,” the Miqo’te woman offered, receiving Minfilia’s nod of approval. “The Echo does not exist in a simple state of an on-off switch; you tap the power most palpably when entering into a vision of one’s past. But additionally, for you to even be aesthetically _compatible_ with this ability, you are also capable of reaching out from within the boundaries of your own consciousness in myriad other ways, some of which may not seem obvious. Your ‘instinct’ about knowing a man’s true intentions, though he may not speak his true mind; your ability to reach the hearts of many through your own words – these, too, are boons of the Echo.” Linaria nodded slowly. It made sense – in theory, at least.

“That being said,” Minfilia picked up, “back to the issue of the primals. So long as they exist, the realm cannot take so much as a single step towards true peace. Measures must be taken, measures which transcend the boundaries of faction, race, language, or creed. Thus, the Echo is instrumental in uniting the realm.

“Naturally, your aid will not go unrewarded. We are fortunate to have a number of influential allies; and they will gladly afford you certain privileges that might otherwise be denied you.”

In a timely manner, the doors to the solar re-opened, and Tataru came strutting back in, a sheaf of parchments in hand. “The documents you requested, my lady!” Minfilia took them with a gracious smile, and turned back to the desk. The sound of her quill scratching across the papers filled the silence for a moment, before she straightened up and handed the documents back to the receptionist.

“My thanks, Tataru.”

“Always a pleasure, my lady!” Pausing to beam at Linaria excitedly, Tataru scurried back off, her footsteps fading down the hallway.

“By way of a welcoming gift,” Minfilia began to explain, “I have taken the liberty of signing a retainer to your name in Ul’dah. He ought to be invaluable to you in your adventuring and financial endeavors, especially when you find yourself afield for extended periods of time.”

_They’re betting quite firmly on my acceptance, are they not?_ Linaria was surprised. Retainer services were often reserved for high-ranking officers of Eorzea’s grand companies, or some of the most prestigious guild-masters. Linaria had never really entertained the need for one, nor imagined having one. “Thank you, my lady,” she managed.

Minfilia leaned back again. “Let this gesture serve as evidence of our commitment to do all in our power to facilitate your personal objectives. In return, we ask that you aid us to the fullest extent of your talents. A mutually beneficial relationship, I am sure you will agree, and one which serves the greater good besides.”

Before Linaria could speak again, Thancred clapped his hands together. “Well then! That was a veritable lecture, was it not? You’ll have to forgive us, but it is important that all concerned are aware of what is expected of them. Now that you know our purpose and what we can offer you, I do hope you will consider joining us. But when you have come to a decision, you may tell me without fear of censure.”

“Why don’t you take the afternoon to think on it?” Minfilia offered. “Perhaps you can return to the city and meet with the retainer vocate, or sort out any other affairs you have there. Then you can return here in the evening, if you so choose, or simply send a message by other means.”

Linaria nodded. “I’ll do that. At the very least, I will return personally to inform you of my decision; it’s the least I can do in light of your hospitality.”

“Very well.” Minfilia looked pleased. “In good faith, I shall entrust you with our order’s password, which our members use to reach one another when failed. It is ‘wild rose.’ Pray keep it safe.”

* * *

In spite of her earlier misgivings about Thancred’s unexpected company on the road, the trek back to Ul’dah seemed longer without the debonair bard chattering on beside her. Zephyr was off in the sky above without a care in the world, leaving her mistress to contemplation.

Late afternoon saw the most traffic on the Steps of Nald, and as Linaria made her way to the sidestreets, she was painfully aware the crowds that awaited her at the Sapphire Avenue exchange. Slipping out of the alleyway that ran behind the Adventurer’s Guild and onto the market proper, she was greeted by the humdrum of bartering adventurers and gregarious merchants, flooding the stalls and crowding around the market boards as they fought for the best prices.

Blessed with a good sense of direction, and as per Minfilia’s suggestion, Linaria found her way to the retainers’ vocate with relative ease. In spite of the business elsewhere, the Hyur behind the counter was unoccupied, and sat back in her stool, looking as if she were about to doze off. As Linaria approached, the woman stood up hurriedly, and put on her best smile of greeting. “Hail, adventurer! How may I help you today?” Linaria gave her name, and her purpose. “Ah! Here to meet your very first retainer? Excellent; very good — I did indeed receive the paperwork necessary, so you’re set! Allow me to just summon him, if you would wait a moment.”

As the Hyur disappeared somewhere within the building, Linaria wondered what the on-call retainers did all day to pass the time, if they were truly _always_ available to their adventurers. She eyed a few men and women dressed in the red-and-blue uniforms that most retainers wore, standing off to the side as they spoke with their employers nearby.

“And here we are!”

The door beside the counter opened, and a tan-skinned Lalafell came scuttling out. “I’m here! I’m here!” He hopped up and down excitedly, his tie going crooked. “Yuyulehu Nenelehu, at your service, Lady Stormchaser!”

“Just ‘Linaria,’ if you please,” Linaria said quickly.

“Linaria it is! At your service, Linaria!” her retainer grinned with a row of sparkling white teeth and gave an enthusiastic salute.

The vocate Hyur cleared her throat. “If you would, it’s rather customary for adventurers to give a nickname to their retainer. Something for them to bond over, you know?”

“A nickname…” Linaria blinked. Yuyulehu was bobbing up and down on the tips of his shoes in anticipation.

Linaria was _terrible_ with nicknames. For all her artistic talents when it came to trade crafting, she had a despondent lack of social creativity. Throughout her childhood, Zephyr had literally been “bird!” to young Linaria, until her father informed her that the hawk _did_ have a name.

And so, she found herself in a predicament of irrational pressure, as the vocate stood there, quill poised to finish the registration, and as the Lalafell wiggled in excited silence. Linaria looked him up and down. He had his hair styled in a rather popular Lalafellian style, the medium-length strands slicked up into a tuft at the top of his head. She noticed that he had green highlights, while the rest of his hair was a dark maroon. An odd choice of fashion, but it reminded her of something… what was it? _Ah—!_

“Erm. How about ‘Beetroot?’” She blurted out. Yuyulehu clapped in approval.

“Beetroot… Beetroot! I love it!”

“’Beetroot’ it is,” the vocate smiled and took note. “Now you are free to go, Misstress Stormchaser, and he will be at your beck and call whenever you fancy! Have a most pleasant day.”

With a conclusive statement like that, Linaria felt obliged to turn and walk away, leaving her many questions unanswered. Her new retainer was close on her heels as she meandered away from the building and towards a more open space beside a neglected market board, bereft of any updated listings. “So,” she began, unsure how to strike up a conversation. “Forgive my lack of familiarity with your services; for I appreciate your – your work ethic and enthusiasm greatly, but truthfully I’m not sure what to ask of you.”

Beetroot hopped up to sit on the ledge of a planter nearby. His hair really is the exact same color as the little shrubbery, Linaria thought. “Worry not, Linaria, for I am trained in a great many things!” he folded his hands in his lap, swinging his legs amicably. He began to explain, and the cadence of his speech sped up with every clause. “Should you require assistance in the field, I am capable of supplementing your endeavors with my own battle-crafts; if you desire a gatherer to procure materials for you, whether it be from the city or from the wilds, for any tradecraft I can provide! If you have need of someone to oversee the safekeeping of your belongings or finances while you are out for a time, I am happy to oblige; you need not worry of any issues of thefts from myself or any other retainers, for even _should_ one of us break our most trustworthy etiquette, the Grand Companies will be ready to compensate you—”

Loathe to rudely interrupt, but more overwhelmed than self-conscious, Linaria cleared her throat again. “It’s quite alright, Yuyu— ah, Beetroot. I trust that accountability will be held on both our parts, and any responsibility designated without the need of authorities’ intercession.”

“Your faith is most moving!” Beetroot swiped a tear out of the corner of his eye. “Speaking of authorities, though — to which of Eorzea’s most valorous Companies do you owe your allegiance?”

Linaria shook her head. “I don’t belong to any faction as of right now,” she said. “Ul’dah has been a home of sorts for me purely because Mistress Momodi was kind enough to provide me with long-term accommodations for private quarters at the Hourglass.”

“That is quite surprising to hear! But… If my contract did not deceive, Minfilia is the one who added you to the registry, right? Is it because you’re worried about being too busy with the Scions?”

“Something like that,” she shrugged. “It’s always been easiest to get the most done when not beholden to a sole authority, in my experience.”

“That’s what’s so great about the Scions, innit?” Beetroot beamed. “They don’t belong to anyone, but do what’s best for everyone. Quite a beautiful concept, really! Oh, but; secret society, and all that. Better not keep going on about it. Things to do, places to be, people to see! So, what will it be for you today, Linaria?”

The complete lack of pause between subject change threw Linaria off, and she realized it would be some time before she was able to keep up with her retainer’s boundless enthusiasm. She thought for a moment. “Do you know Otopa Pottopa, at the Hourglass?”

“The inkeep? Of course!”

“Pray see to it that he and Momodi know that I won’t be needing my room for some time, and that my absence does _not_ mean that I’m deceased. There ought to be some remaining textiles in the chests, which you can donate to Redolent Rose at the weavers’ guild at your earliest convenience. Will that do to busy yourself for a while?”

Beetroot hopped to his feet. “I’ll do it! And once I’m done, I shall continue to better myself through training, in the ways of battle, hand, _and_ land — until such a time as you decide I could be most useful in any particular specialty!” He clapped his hands together. “Will that be all?”

“Yes.” Linaria nodded slowly. “I may not be back for a few days, do not wait on me to your discomfort,” she smiled, a little nervously.

“Discomfort? Never, my lady!” Beetroot bowed so low that his forehead brushed Linaria’s boots. “I’m off, I’m off!” And without further ado, he scurried out of sight, disappearing into the sea of people.

Compared to him, she moved in slow-motion, but Linaria was not the sort of woman to sit around idly. Perhaps swayed by the unfathomable energy of her newest acquaintance, she had been reminded that the world at large did not stay still while adventurers mulled over the choices laid before them. Yet even aside from that, and the general hospitality Minfilia had afforded, the Antecedent had laid a path before Linaria that was markedly different than the life she’d deigned to lead thus far; not only did Minfilia seem to have all the answers to the unanswered mysteries that Linaria oft had to leave to the wayside, but she and her compatriots’ mission promised dedication to a greater cause, unfettered by the complicated inner politics of the larger guilds.

Her decision made, and Beetroot deployed to deal with the logistics of her departure, Linaria rose to her feet and left the city as soon as she’d returned, this time with the momentum of change at her back.

* * *

She let herself in at the same door she’d been shown before, and found Tataru waiting in the foyer in the exact same seat, scribbling away at her ledger. The receptionist was better-prepared this time for guests, and set her quill down tidily as Linaria entered. “You’re back!” 

Linaria took care to kick the dust off of her boots before stepping onto the plush carpets. “That I am. And to stay for a bit, I believe.”

Tataru pumped her fists in delight. “Yes! I’m so glad you’ve decided to join us. I went ahead and had a room prepared for you, just in case – Minfilia’s out right now, so do you want me to show you to our living quarters first? The others are probably having supper around now, but I imagine you’d want to set your belongings down after a day of so much back-and-forth travel.”

“That would be lovely; thank you.” Linaria was most grateful – and once more, surprised – by their humbling hospitality. It was a different kind of veneration than one would receive in the cities; rather than garish accolades and unnecessary praise, the Scions’ means of recognition was by way of opening their world to her, a corner of Eorzea that was welcoming and accepting as she had not known before.

She and Tataru descended to the lower level, and took a hallway to the right that led into a separate wing of the building. “The most of us share common rooms on this lower floor,” Tataru explained, “but the Archons all have private chambers upstairs. There are a couple of unoccupied rooms up there that aren’t used all that often, so we’ve had one of those cleared out for you.” They stopped at the first door at the top of the stairs, which Tataru kicked open with great gusto. “Ta-da! Your new home!”

There was a small, square window on the far wall, and through the parted curtains Linaria glimpsed the twinkling waves of the ocean reflecting the night sky. The room itself was well-lit by a set of lanterns on the walls and a large candle on the clean desk, polished to shining perfection. A fresh set of linens sat on the bed, wafting a subtle scent of lavender. An armoire was nestled beside the window, similarly polished, but well-loved by the looks of the small scratches on the sides where the drawers slid in and out, and the corresponding chip on the flanks where the cabinet doors would swing open.

It really did remind Linaria of her home.

“I don’t quite know what to say,” she said, warmly. She walked around the room slowly, setting her bow and quiver at the foot of the bed, and her satchel by the armoire, before pausing by the window. _Would another ‘thank you’ be one too many expressions of thanks?_ She wondered.

Tataru swung her arms gaily. “Aw, I’m glad you like it. It’s not much, but it’s cozy! I wouldn’t trade it for the world, personally.”

Linaria was ushered back downstairs, and shown to the hall opposite the living quarters, where Linaria had heard the distant conversations earlier. “This is the main social hall,” Tataru threw the doors open and spun around. “We’ve got our own merchants and menders here, and plenty of food stocked up if you’re ever hungry.” She stood on her tip-toes and looked around the room. “Oh, look there – Urianger and Thancred!” And she hopped down into the main area and skipped over to their table. Linaria followed close behind.

Urianger, the hooded Elezen that Linaria had seen in the solar earlier, was seated next to Thancred, but rather stiffly and at arm’s length. The latter had his chin on the table, sloshing a half-empty flagon in his hand, and looking rather pouty, producing small incoherent noises. Seeing Linaria and Tataru’s approach, Urianger stood and gave a bow of relief. “Greetings. ’Tis good to see thee again, Linaria. Hast thou chosen to join us?”

Tataru leaned over and whispered, loudly, “He always talks like that; you get used to it after a while.” Urianger’s eyebrow twitched slightly, but his expression did not otherwise betray his composure. Stifling a chuckle, Linaria nodded.

“Wouldst thou care to join us for supper?” Urianger gestured to the breads and cheeses on the table. “There is food aplenty. Thancred doth refuse to eat,” he added, flatly. “Save for his partaking in liquor.”

Thancred rolled his head to the side at the sound of his name. His eyes lit up as he saw the two arrivals. “Linaria! You’ve returned!” He stood up drunkenly, his stool wobbling dangerously in his wake, and put his hand on Linaria’s shoulder. “You are a sight for my most sore eyes. I have had the _most_ tragic afternoon.”

“Don’t tell me, let me guess – some maiden slipped through your fingers?” Tataru crossed her arms.

“A most _beautiful_ woman!” Thancred wailed. “A Miqo’te, with eyes the color of the sea, and hair dark as the night sky… and before I was even through talking to her, she departed! With another man! And not so much as a backwards glance!”

Linaria blinked. “I am… sorry for your loss?” she offered.

The man downed the rest of his drink, sniffling again. “Your condolences are appreciated, and your own lovely visage will do mine broken heart well. Please; sit with us.”

Urianger muttered something under his breath akin to an apology, as Thancred draped his arm across Linaria’s shoulder. She tried to politely shrug him off, even as he piloted her towards a seat. He paused as the door opened and closed again. “The Antecedent has returned!” He cheered, waving his empty flagon in the air.

Minfilia sighed as she came over to greet them. “Do… behave yourself, Thancred.” She smiled apologetically at Linaria. “I trust your welcome has been otherwise pleasant this evening. I take it you’ve come with your decision?”

Linaria was hoping for a rescue, but also feared that if she slipped away from Thancred, the other bard would go toppling to the ground. Before she could respond to Minfilia, he spoke again in her stead.

“Indeed…!” He winked and cocked his head, knocking the side of Linaria’s in the process. She winced. “My wildflower has returned– and she shall henceforth tread wither the _wild roses_ bloom.”

> ** _Urianger’s Observations_ **
> 
> “Linaria.” The name speaks volumes of its bearer’s midlander origins. Etymologically, a rather common specie of field-flower, if I am unmistaken.
> 
> The aetherial flow around this woman is not unlike the powers of which our Antecedent is possessed of. It is clear that Hydaelyn favors this child of Hers. The singular crystal of light that she beareth in her possession is aspected of water: the purest of the elements, and a testament to her passing of Hydaelyn’s first test — in accordance with Thancred’s testimonial of their encounter with the voidsent. Time shall tell if Linaria is wont to master the Blessing of Light as Minfilia has… but beyond shadow of a doubt, I say she hath the potential.
> 
> “Pray, Thancred… do not scare this one off with thine undesirable overtures.”
> 
> “Undesireable? _Me_? How could you, Urianger…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello readers! Thank you for tuning back in, and apologies for the long delay since the first post. I've had some logistical things to sort out, one of which is the very exciting art collab project that I'm doing with FloatySkye, one of my art mutuals! I hope you enjoy our illustrations as much as the story :D 
> 
> Check her out on DeviantArt! https://www.deviantart.com/floatyskye/


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the long delay in updating! I was incredibly slow with my half of the collab, and then by the time I finally passed it back, Skye was waylaid by tech/life shenanigans T_T I really feel that the chapters are so much more impactful with the art, so I hope you think it's worth the wait, too! 
> 
> Enjoy!

### 

**Chapter Two: An Elementary Investigation**

Linaria rose early the next morning in anticipation for Minfilia’s summons. After breaking her fast, she embarked on a short stroll around the port, taking in the cool air blown in from the seas.

When she returned to the Waking Sands, Tataru was already at her post, diligently huddled over the day’s agenda. Sporting a sleepy smile, she invited Linaria to join Minfilia in the solar at her earliest convenience. Linaria replied that she would make her way there at once, and Tataru bid her a good day.

As Linaria passed the common hall, she heard Yda’s ever-excitable voice echoing down the passageway, and imagined her Lalafellian companion trying to quiet her down. The corner of Linaria’s mouth twinged in amusement at the thought.

Later the previous evening, a very drunken Thancred had taken the liberty of introducing his fellow Archons – those amongst their order that were the few Sharlayans choosing to remain in Eorzea after the Calamity, even as the realm descended into chaos and their countrymen fled for the motherland. After losing their leader, the archmage Louisoix, the Archons had sought out Minfilia and others with Hydaelyn’s gifts, and formed the Scions of the Seventh Dawn.

Yda and Papalymo were those charged with surveying the Twelveswood, working with Kan-E-Senna and her people of Gridania. Then there was Y’shtola, the conjurer who had spoken with Linaria the previous day; Limsa Lominsa was in her care. Thancred attempted to make another introduction for himself, but as it would have been his third such endeavor, Linaria politely declined. Instead, Urianger completed the introductions with himself, the overseer of all affairs within the Waking Sands and the Scions’ chief scholar.

Linaria would not admit it to anyone, but she had laid awake that night to commit all their names and faces to memory. Each of them had expressed such earnest words of welcome; even the ever-cryptic Urianger, and Linaria could not bear to do anything less than familiarise herself with each of them to spare herself the embarrassment of forgetting someone’s name.

She rubbed the tiredness out of her eyes, cringing when she saw the red tint of her eye-shadow come off a bit on her fingertips, and attempted to brush it away on the hem of her tabard. 

“Fret not over your appearances, Stormchaser; you can’t be faring worse than I this morning,” Thancred yawned and clapped a hand on her shoulder in greeting as he trotted down the hall. _Again, with the unsolicited touching._

“Good morn— oh.” Thancred’s night of revelry in the ale had taken its toll, evidenced by the dark shadows under his eyes and notable increase in the unkemptness of his hair. “I take it sleep did not treat you too kindly?” Linaria stifled her snicker of amusement by clearing her throat into one gloved hand.

“Quite,” he sighed. “But come, Minfilia awaits.”

Linaria had not thought that it was to be a group meeting, but followed Thancred to the solar nonetheless. They found Minfilia waiting patiently for them at her seat, examining a missive for what seemed like a repeated time, judging by her half-bored expression. She stood to greet them as they entered. “Greetings, Linaria; Thancred.” she said warmly; _she_ did not hesitate to let out a laugh directed at Thancred’s woeful appearance, to which he pouted. Paying him no mind, Minfilia turned to offer Linaria the welcoming smile that had drawn her in the previous day. “Thank you for your timeliness. Let us not dally – we have received a request for aid from the Immortal Flames.” Linaria nodded, folding her hands as she listened intently.

“Some days ago, a crystal caravan registered to Amajina and Sons Mineral Concern was waylaid and divested of its cargo. Within a bell of the robbery, several people were reported missing from the shantytown outside the city. At a glance, one would assume the involvement of bandits, kidnappers, and coincidence. But such crimes are hardly uncommon.”

“Both the Flames and the Brass Blades deal with their ilk on a nearly daily basis,” Linaria agreed.

Minfilia nodded. “However, this time we have reason to believe that a primal is involved. The evidence left behind at both scenes implicates the Amalj’aa, who are known worshippers of Ifrit: the _‘Lord of the Inferno.’_ If we consider the objects that were taken, there is little room left for doubt that these crimes were committed in Ifrit’s name. Allow me to explain further,” she offered.

“In order to summon their god, a great deal of crystals are required as an offering. Once summoned, the primal will draw upon the aether of these crystals to facilitate its physical manifestation, often supplemented by additional sacrifices; typically live subjects. The primal will ‘temper’ the individuals offered up to them, enslaving their souls and reducing them to hollow thralls, existing only to further fuel the primal’s existence on our plane.”

“Hence, the kidnappings.” Linaria frowned as she began to understand.

“Precisely,” Minfilia said gravely. She collected the missive from her desk, folding it up once more. “In order to better acquaint you with what we do, I would have you take the leading role in this investigation, Linaria. Naturally, you will not be without aid — Thancred shall accompany you, as a partner of sorts.”

Thancred leaned towards Linaria, tipping his head to the side and providing his usual charming smile. “Ever at your service, fair lady.”

Minfilia regarded him with an unamused expression, and moved on. “I would suggest that you begin your endeavor at Camp Drybone, an outpost in the eastern reaches of Thanalan. You should seek out a man there known as Isembard.”

_Drybone, Isembard._ Linaria made mental note. “Got it.”

The Antecedent looked satisfied. “Excellent. You may see to your preparations and head out anytime, then. Best of luck, Linaria – I’m rooting for you. Please do take care; and stay safe.”

* * *

Linaria acquiesced to the use of a carriage to expedite their travels, despite her qualms regarding what she deemed the _unnecessary spending of coin,_ to which Thancred waved his hands dismissively. 

“The Scions’ coffers are well enough provided for that this is a trivial matter, I assure you. Tataru may disagree with me, but having personally seen the Leveilleur twins’ family contributions; I am without remorse.”

“The twins?” Still not yet recovered from her self-imposed acquainting review the previous night, Linaria felt a mild panic at this new reference.

“Ah, yes. They are recently come to Eorzea; Louisoix’s own grandchildren. You may not have met them yet, but I’m quite positive you will eventually — soon, likely, given Alphinaud’s propensity for sticking his nose in general affairs,” Thancred mused. “You needn’t worry too much over it. There are other matters at hand, after all!”

The carriage brought them down a gentle slope into Camp Drybone, which was nestled in a recess near the foothills. Since the carriage was covered to shield its occupants from the desert sun, Linaria didn’t see much of the buildings and general layout of the area until they disembarked; which was much to her disappointment, given her unfamiliarity with that part of Thanalan.

She turned in a slow circle, taking in her surroundings. Most of the buildings were inlaid in the sides of the sandstone walls, while an inn and tavern flanked a small aetheryte plaza. Squinting at the large aetheryte crystal for an extended moment, she briefly wondered why Vesper Bay lacked such a convenience, especially given its role as the Scion’s headquarters. Before she could ask Thancred, he was chuckling and invading her personal space once more.

“So quick to adjust and observe,” he said. “An admirable adventurer indeed. A lady is at her most radiant in her natural element, you know, and this would seem to be—“

Linaria sighed and walked away to attune to the aetheryte. Undeterred, Thancred followed close behind. Once the sonorous hum died down after her attunement completed, he addressed her again. “Shall we seek out this Isembard fellow, then?”

“You needn’t go through the trouble,” a voice called out to them from somewhere nearby. Turning to find its owner, Linaria spotted a robed man waving in their direction beside the well, a few yalms away. “Judging by your appearances, I would assume you are the promised aid sent by the Flames? After all, you don’t see too many well-equipped and well-dressed adventurers around these humble parts without due reason.”

Linaria was inclined to let Thancred saunter over first, but remembered that Minfilia’s intention was to have their new recruit take the initiative on this mission. She cleared her throat and approached Isembard with the best confident stride she had to offer. “Linaria Stormchaser, sir. And my, er… colleague, Thancred Waters.” The latter frowned slightly at her rather stiff title and introduction for him, but did not contradict her.

Isembard laughed. “There’s no need to address me so formally with that ‘sir’ business, miss Stormchaser. I am but a simple man of the people, of my station merely by happenstance.” He tipped his head humbly. “That being said, as the closest thing this little town has to a leader, I am most grateful for your aid and would be happy to provide you with our full cooperation.”

“My thanks,” Linaria nodded. “Shall we get right to it, then?”

“Indeed,” Isembard adjusted his turban and began. “As you know, there have been a string of kidnappings following the caravan attack. But more recently — that is, this very morning, there has been a new development: the discovery of a handful of corpses, strewn along the road. Not enough to account for all those who are missing, but more than one is a concerning number nevertheless.”

Linaria grimaced. “Do you still have the bodies on hand, or have they been interred?”

“They have yet to be prepared for burial. If you wish to have a look, you can find them in the back, over there,” Isembard pointed to a covered area near the encampment’s exit, cloaked in shade. “Once you’re done with that grim task, might I suggest you seek another’s counsel? At the inn, you ought to find one man who goes by Ungust – he’s one of the well-off merchants who frequents this area, and ought to have some information that may prove useful.”

“Very well, we shall. Thank you, Isembard; we’ll keep you appraised.”

Isembard offered a brief grin. “Nay, thank _you_ for coming with such haste. Your aid is much appreciated.”

As Linaria and Thancred made their way to the unloading zone that Isembard had indicated, she reached into her satchel and produced two pairs of gloves, offering a set to Thancred. He lifted his eyebrows. “Hm?”

She tossed them at him to free her own hands, in order to switch her cuffs for the hempen gloves. “While I am not opposed to getting my hands dirty in general, it’s typically best to not go poking around crime scenes bare-handed. If there are poisons or other things about, it would do us well to come prepared.” Tucking her cuffs into her belt, she looked at Thancred expectantly.

He had already slipped his on, and was flexing his fingers and marveling at them. “What fine make,” he said appreciatively.

“…they’re spun from the roughest and cheapest fabric available, Thancred,” she shook her head. “I prepared them in a matter of minutes; it really isn’t anything special.”

“_You_ made these?” Thancred said. “At the risk of incurring your ire with the flood of compliments, I must say that you are ever full of surprise talents, to be so well-equipped and prepared for any scenario.” 

“‘Surprise?’” she quipped, “I thought you were expertly-acquainted with me and all that I do, as a result of your careful espionage of my going-ons.”

This seemed to catch Thancred off-guard. “You make it seem like I am some unsavory _skulker_,” he protested. “As I said before, my intentions are—”

“_Always_ honorable,” Linaria laughed. She nudged him gently. “I only jest.”

They came to one corner of the area, where the retrieved corpses were laid out on a thick cloth. A pair of women dressed in healers’ clothes were examining the bodies.

Thancred, a bit less jovial than usual, cleared his throat politely. “Excuse us, ladies – would you mind if my associate and I had a look?”

“We were taking note in an order to identify them, but we’re quite finished,” one said quietly. “We will give you space to work.”

“You have our thanks.” Linaria crouched beside the corpses. Though they were relatively fresh, the time they had spent out in the desert sun had done no good for the mixed stench of blood and mud. Covering her nose with one hand, Linaria searched the body before her for an indication of the cause of death.

Although there was a great deal of gore caked across the victim’s clothes, he seemed to only bear a single wound: a deep slash across his throat. _An injury such as that would explain the quantity of blood, at least._ Linaria thought grimly. She moved to the next, only to find more of the same.

Thancred was carefully lifting the eyelids of the body before him, peering at the lifeless eyes beneath. Linaria frowned. “What are you looking for?”

He rested his elbows on his knees, rocking backwards. “When enthralled by a primal, a victim’s eyes often turn a glassy white,” he explained. “These men, unfortunate though they are, were not subject to such a fate.”

“The death blows are incredibly precise,” Linaria said. “I’ve had my share of altercations with the Amalj’aa, and they don’t work as cleanly as this. A secondary party must be involved.”

“Astutely observed,” Thancred agreed. “Though, now we have two tasks before us: to find out who the Amalj’aa are working with, and what this ‘someone else’ has to gain from casting their lot with the lizard-men.”

Linaria stood and tugged off her gloves before taking care to dust the sand off her tabard, away from the bodies. “I say we seek out the previously-mentioned Ungust then, and see if he can shed some light on the information this place has to offer.”

“You lead; I’ll follow.” Thancred took the soiled gloves from her and folded them up along with his own.

Moving on to the inn that filled one wall of the camp, they were greeted by the scents of half-stale ale mixed with freshly-cooked food. An old man hunched over a table in the corner, nursing a mug of spirits beside two empty bottles at his elbow, while a few groups of workers were scattered throughout the room for their afternoon meal. Much like she would in the Quicksand, Linaria wove her way through the tables and straight for the bartender – a man far rougher than Momodi, but with the classic welcoming grin of a good tavernkeep.

“Good afternoon, sir and miss! What can I get ye?”

Linaria set her hands on the counter. “We were hoping to get some information, actually, rather than drink. If you wouldn’t mind, could—”

“Sorry, ma’am, but that’s not how things work ‘ere,” the tavern-keep shrugged apologetically. “You want my talk, you’re gonna have to buy something. So! What’ll it be?”

Thancred leaned over right next to Linaria, taking over before her grimace could be noticed. “Two rounds of water, then,” he slid a coin across the table. “Can’t have us day-drinking on the job, unfortunately.” The man behind the bar sighed in resignation.

“Well, I s’pose it’ll do.” He went to fetch a set of mugs, filling them from a rather unsanitary-looking faucet installed on the back wall, and brought them over. “So. What’s it ye want to know?”

Linaria looked at the water in her mug suspiciously, swirling it around and observing how very cloudy the liquid was. Glancing to her side, she saw Thancred drinking unapologetically, so took a small sip out of obligation. “We’re looking for a man called Ungust,” she suppressed a cough at the sandy taste. “I’ve heard he’s a regular here.”

“Well, look no further,” the tavern-keep seemed relieved at the simplicity of their request. “That man over there, at the end of the bar? That’s ‘im.” He pointed to a sumptuously-dressed fellow who had his feet up on the stool beside him, talking loudly over a linkpearl. Linaria’s spirits fell as she recognized him. Noticing the sudden attention brought to him, Ungust scowled and barked,

“What? I don’t recall making any business with you, so you can— oh gods, it’s _you!”_ He stood, fumbling about as he pointed a shaking hand at Linaria. “You’re that adventurer bitch from the other day in Ul’dah!”

Thancred started to march forwards. “Watch your tongue, little man,” he started, but Linaria placed a hand on his shoulder, and strode past. Ungust shuffled backwards as she approached.

Linaria was not particularly tall, but true to Thancred’s word, Ungust was a rather short little man. And under Linaria’s two-toned glare, he seemed to shrink another few ilms. “Gods, it’s _you_,” she retorted. “I suppose it was foolish of me to think that any well-to-do merchant in Thanalan would be anything aside from the unsavory scum that trawls the streets of Ul’dah.”

“H-how dare you!” Ungust exclaimed, clenching his fist. He started to lift it and she caught it with ease, before clasping his fist between both her hands. She dragged him closer.

“Do you really want to make a scene?” She shifted so that her tightly-packed quiver of arrows rattled audibly. Thancred leaned over to poke his head in.

“Much as I would enjoy the privilege of this lady’s gentle — or, _not-so-gentle _touch,” he crooned in Ungust’s ear, “I do suggest that you do not cross her. By your appearances, I doubt you could take even a small child in a fight.”

The merchant’s face turned a shade of purple as he failed to contain his rage. But as his eyes flicked from table to table, then over to the skeptically observing barkeep, he growled and sat back in his stool. “Very well. What do you want?”

Linaria brushed her hands off as if she had just been mucking about in the dirt, and Thancred pulled a seat up uncomfortably close to Ungust. Linaria settled for resting an elbow on the bar. “The recent slew of crimes. What do you know about them?”

“Victims have mostly been poor folk,” Ungust muttered. “The sort that most people wouldn’t miss, except for how small a settlement this rat-hole is. You’re better off asking the beggars what they know than me; do I seem like the sort to preoccupy myself with the grievances of homeless hags and urchins? Do I seem like I _care?_”

“Not even in the slightest.” His hubris grated on her, and she resisted the urge to slap him. “I am, however, aware that you _do_ find sport in taking advantage of those less fortunate than yourself.”

Ungust scoffed. “Still championing the people, are you? Fine then — go see for yourself. See what the beggars think of those more fortunate than themselves, and you’ll soon see why I have no patience for their ilk… worthless cretins, too proud and too timid to ever be of any use. ”

Linaria frowned. “Perhaps they’re _timid_ because your deplorable personality is so unreasonably larger-than-life. The last thing they need is men like you walking around, touting yourselves about as if—” She stopped her own ranting and took an exasperated breath, realizing it was wasted on him. “Fine. Thancred, I’m going to take a walk around as our friend suggests.”

“Certainly.” Thancred agreed amicably. “I shall stay here awhile. Perhaps _our friend _has something useful to divulge just yet, before he scurries off. And gods know I could do with another non-alcoholic drink besides.”

* * *

Not a bell later, Isembard would find Linaria standing rather dejectedly in the aetheryte plaza, her consternation made plain by the way she ground her heels in the dust. She caught him observing her sulking, and went over to air her grievances. 

“The merchant scum was right about one thing,” she shook her head. “The poor around these parts are too terrified to interact with most people, let alone a stranger who might as well be another dime-a-dozen adventurer.”

“Come now,” Isembard smiled reassuringly. “The mere fact that you’ve come all this way out of your way to help us speaks volumes; many an adventurer would not give the poor the time of day. That being said, I apologize for putting you through a conversation with Ungust. I was unaware that the two of you had, erm… crossed paths, before. Perhaps I can point you in a more productive direction.” He gestured to the top of the encampment. “You can’t see it from here, but just on the hill over yonder there’s a small chapel. In these trying times, all that some people can bring themselves to trust is their gods. Perhaps some of the priests or nuns will be able to help shed some light on their woes.” For lack of a better alternative, Linaria went on her way.

As she made the climb up the encampment’s slope, the church steeple gradually came into view. It was hewn of the same sandstone as that of the buildings below, but embellished with stained glass windows and a touch of metal filigree here and there. On the terraced grounds surrounding the church was an expansive graveyard, with the multitude of headstones suggesting that a great many people were buried there.

It was early afternoon enough that the chapel itself was empty of common-folk; Linaria could only presume that they were preoccupied with the day’s work. As she walked into the chapel alone, she drew the attention of a man dressed in pastor’s robes.

“Welcome, child, and blessings of the Twelve be upon you.” He bowed his head in greeting. A rather elderly man, his face was marked with kindly smile-lines and crinkles around his eyes and cheeks. He looked her up and down. “...might I ask, are you the wild rose I was told may come our way?”

_Another connection of the Scions. _Linaria was not entirely surprised; perhaps this would prove expeditious to the investigation. “Yes, I am. My name is Linaria; I was hoping that I could speak with some of your order, Father…?”

“Iliud,” the man smiled warmly. “I am heartened at your arrival, and I hope that it heralds a change in fortune for the ill fates that have come about as of late. We have been rather busy, unfortunately,” he murmured.

“Is there aught I might do to lend a hand?” Linaria’s response was practically automatic. It occurred to her that she was not working on her own this time, so taking the occasion to offer her aid was rather unconscientious of the partner she’d left at the tavern. But Father Iliud was already accepting her assistance.

“Actually, yes. Brother Marques was preparing the graveyard for the interment of the latest casualties. Perhaps you could assist him, and take the opportunity to gain something from conversation? Ah— Marques? come here a moment, if you don’t mind,” Father Iliud called out over Linaria’s shoulder, to a hooded man just making his way out the door, shovel in hand.

“Oh… of course, Father.” His voice was soft and timid.

“Marques, this is Linaria,” Iliud explained. “She’s going to be helping you for a bit. In return, please treat her with hospitality.” He turned to Linaria. “Marques has been with us since the Calamity,” he added quietly. “Like many of the departed souls who were brought here, he had no name and no memory of his life prior. But amidst our ranks, he seems to have found a degree of peace.”

Linaria tipped her head in greeting to Marques. She could see his wavering blue eyes peering at her from beneath his hood — and were those _goggles_ perched atop his forehead? Conscientious of staring over-long, she spoke. “Shall we get to work?”

The priest nodded simply and led the way out around to the back, where the bodies Linaria and Thancred had examined earlier were prepared for burial.

Marques, it seemed, was not one for much conversation. As he and Linaria set about the task of carrying the bodies to a row of freshly-dug graves, he spoke little more than the quiet murmur of thanks. Once all the corpses were interred, and the sandy dirt had been shoveled back over their final resting place, Marques set his shovel to the side and traded it for his chisel.

“What’s that for?” Linaria asked, partially to just make conversation. Marques stooped beside one of the headstones, hesitating a moment before replying.

“I’m marking the names they were known by in life,” he said. “It is all too common that we are not able to identify those brought to us, as many of them lost their lives during the Calamity… So when we are able to give name to their place of rest, I… I consider it a blessing.”

Linaria looked around at the gravestones around them. A few here and there were engraved in pristine lettering with the names of the departed, but the far greater number were unmarked️. A priest was going about the graveyard laying fresh flowers, in silent reverence.

It felt a bit trite to make further comment on the topic for the sake of conversation, so Linaria decided to let Marques be as he went about his work. Instead, she approached the other priest. With a short exchange, she took half the flowers from his basket, and went about the unmarked graves to scatter the white daisies… _For those who have no one left to remember them._ It was a rather somber task, and one that left Linaria pondering on the relative comforts of remembrance. _To whom do we leave our mark on, that we can say our time on this star was beneficial; that we have changed another’s life for the better before our return unto the aetherial sea?_

“I… I am certain the dead appreciate your ministrations, from beyond.”

Linaria was startled when she heard Marques’ unexpected voice. She laid the last of her flowers down. “Oh, I didn’t see you there.” How much time had gone by while she made her rounds?

“I mean it, truly. Acts of kindness do not go unseen, whether by the departed; or the gods. So, on behalf of those who are not here to speak… thank you.”

“It was my honor to assist you,” she replied.

Marques shuffled his feet. “Oh, yes… what was it that you needed, again? Though your heart is unmistakably that of a good samaritan, I believe you came here with the purpose of… seeking something, no?” Linaria explained to him the situation, briefly, and his kindly expression became clouded with worry. “I’m terribly sorry, but I don’t think I’ll be able to help you much with your investigation. But… I may know someone who might. If you ask Father Iliud for Sister Ourcen within, she may be able to enlighten you as to what the poor people think. She is often close with them… I think.”

Linaria offered him her thanks, and extended her hand to shake his in farewell. He took it tentatively, and in doing so, Linaria noticed how well-muscled his arms were, and the tell-tale callouses and lines on his hands indicated the life of a hard physical worker. _Surely that’s not just from his work digging graves… what was his vocation, before losing his memory in the Calamity?_

“…good-bye for now then, Linaria; I hope we meet again sometime.”

* * *

Thancred was patiently awaiting her return just outside the tavern, leaning against the sandstone wall and appearing to be dozing off – but he had one eye cracked open, carefully observing his surroundings. He turned that resting expression into a wink as Linaria approached him. 

“Don’t make me regret coming to fetch you before my next stop,” she warned. He sighed.

“_Must_ you be so cruel? At any rate, where are we off to?”

She actually felt a bit bad for him, with the way he sulked like a dog that had been kicked; a dog that was used to knowing nothing but overflowing affection, it seemed. So she tugged on his sleeve and pulled him along. “To the north of here. The priests suggested I speak with one of their order, and she is apparently on business in the Golden Bazaar.”

“A sister of the cloth, visiting with the poor. Seems unassuming enough.” Thancred seemed quite appeased to be allowed to walk close to her side.

Linaria harbored her doubts, but did not voice them. Father Iliud had mentioned that Sister Ourcen oft visited the children of the Bazaar, but that her visit of the day had grown over-long. _Could it be indicative of her involvement with the recent happenings? But then, of what side, to which end? _Linaria shook the pessimistic thoughts away for the time being. The mere fact that they had not found any concrete leads as of yet did not mean she ought to start by pinning blame on a _nun_,_ of _all people.

The road that wound its way north was well-trodden, laying in a shallow recess between the foothills. From on one branching path, framed by the distinct desert ruins often found across the area, small imps zipped about. Thancred cast a dagger at the demonkin that ventured within reach, and the rest went scurrying back to the shadows. “Pests,” he muttered. “But better relatively harmless tricksters roaming these roads than what other ungodly creatures that call those ruins home.”

The Bazaar was just ahead. To Linaria’s surprise, it was not the shanty-town that she had expected. Though the buildings were not many in number, they were well-constructed and respectably large. But the merchants in the area were hawking their wares from rickety stalls assembled outside the bases of the buildings, rather than lining the sandstone and marble halls within. As Linaria and Thancred drew nearer, she saw that most of the windows in the buildings were either shattered, or boarded up from inside.

“This place was once a craftsmens’ hamlet,” Thancred explained as they came to the center of the main road. “But after the calamity, most of the masters moved to Ul’dah to work with the Guilds. T’was hard finding business in these parts. Now it’s just paupers and refugees that call these dwellings home. At any rate – did good Father Iliud mention whereabouts she would be here?”

“He said that she’s rather popular with the children,” Linaria murmured, as she scanned the area. Beside one of the stalls, a pair of girls and a boy were playing with a hempen ball, kicking it about in the dirt. A fourth child was hovering nearby, looking around anxiously. “That ought to be a start.”

Seeing the Scions approaching, the first boy opened his mouth wide in excitement, getting the ball kicked into his chest as a result. He didn’t seem to mind. “Look, look! Adventurers!” His playmates turned to where he was pointing. One of the girls gasped, the other hid behind the boy.

“The man has funny hair. I thought only _old_ people have white hair. But he’s not an old people!”

“Asa, that’s rude!” The other girl pinched her friend’s cheek. “Just cus he doesn’t look like Hyur from around here doesn’t mean he looks _funny_.”

“Oh… I’m sorry,” Asa shrank further behind the boy as Thancred stooped beside them. He laughed.

“Worry not, little one; I am not offended. There are not many Sharlayans about these parts.”

Linaria crouched by his side. “And we _are_ a bit funny-looking, are we not?” She tucked her hair out of her face so that the children could see the opposing colors of her irises. “I’ve got strange eyes; he’s got weird hair.”

“But it’s pretty!” The girl who scolded her friend blurted out. “And cool! Mister, your hair looks soft. Can I touch it?”

“Er…” Thancred seemed a bit taken aback at the request. Linaria nudged him forwards and put her own hand on his head. _Oh. It _is_ soft._ Thancred sighed in resignation, as the little girl giggled in wonder at his Sharlayan locks.

“Um…excuse me.”

Leaving Thancred to his fate, Linaria turned to address the other boy, who had timidly approached from where he was standing a bit away. He fiddled with the hem of his rough-spun shirt as his messy, uncombed hair fell all over his face. “If you _are_ an adventurer, can you help me out?”

Linaria smiled. “What do you need?”

“Well I lost my… my treasure earlier, when I was walking back with Asa and Hadding and Gilly from Camp Drybone. Sister Ourcen was with us and she said she’d go back and look for it, but that was nearly a whole bell ago, and she hasn’t come back.” He looked worriedly towards the road. “Can you go see if she’s okay?”

“As it happens, we’re looking for her, too,” Linaria nodded reassuringly. “So my friend and I will definitely go find her for you.”

“O-okay!” The boy smiled. “Thank you, miss. She shouldn’t be anywhere too far away, because I had it when we were in the camp, if that helps.”

“Very well then. Thancred, come along,” Linaria tapped on her companion’s head to get his attention – most definitely _not_ to fiddle with his soft hair once more – and turned back to the road. “We’ve got a search and rescue to go about.”

She led the way at a brisk pace. Once they were out of earshot of the children, she said to Thancred, “I did not want to worry the boy more than necessary. But if you were listening; we should have run into her on our way up here. Her absence is troubling, to say the least.”

“The ruins,” Thancred said, decisively and grimly. “I would be unsurprised if one of those trickster imps found the child’s shiny prize on the ground and made off with it back to its nest. If she is familiar with these parts, Sister Ourcen might think to look there.”

Linaria pulled her bow from her back, the hum of magitek buzzing in the air. “Unarmed and unprepared, most likely. Let’s make haste.” Thancred drew the larger pair of daggers from his belt, and they shifted into a sprint.

Mid-afternoon was drawing into early evening, and the sun’s rays were beginning to take on an orange hue, casting long shadows from the ruins across the rubble. Imps chattered excitably from the shadows. A few territorial wild hounds snapped at Linaria’s heels as she ran past, but an enchanted burst shot sent the pack scurrying away into hiding.

“Our quarry, ahead,” Thancred called out.

In what may have once been a courtyard of some bygone age, now little more than pillars surrounded by rubble, a small cluster of gaunt, ambling figures had cornered a woman. She scrambled backwards, backed up against one broken wall. There was a trail of blood on the sleeve and hem of her robe, and she clutched her hands to her chest as she huddled in terror.

“Gods, I wish the undead would be polite enough to _stay_ dead every now and then,” Thancred sighed. Seeing one of the zombie swordsmen lifting its blade to strike the nun, he dashed forwards, catching the blow on his daggers in time.

Linaria pulled an arrow from her quiver, and her magicks stirred to life as she fired, finding her mark in the undead at the center of the group. Four more bolts flew from her bow-string, phantasmal arrows of wind, locking on to the other creatures and scattering their rotting bones across the courtyard. She watched warily for any reassembling skeletons, but the tattered robes fluttered placidly in the wind, as their rusted weapons faded to dust. She exhaled in relief, and retrieved her arrow before joining Thancred to aid the rescued nun.

“Are you hurt?” He was helping the sister to her feet.

Her voice trembled slightly. “Not badly, thanks to you two,” she rubbed her arm. “Just a couple of scratches. You have my thanks for saving my life.”

“You should get it checked for signs of infection,” Linaria advised, eyeing the wound. “Necromantic creatures oft inflict foul injuries.”

“Yes, I will,” Sister Ourcen said, distractedly. “But I need to get this back to the boy at the Bazaar,” she opened her hand, revealing a tarnished ring. “It… it’s his only memento of his mother. I wouldn’t have risked my life had it not been so important—”

“I will deliver it for you,” Thancred interrupted. “Please, go back to Camp Drybone with Linaria. I assure you that the ring will be returned to its owner promptly.” Linaria nodded in agreement, and offered the nun an arm of support. Sister Ourcen leaned against it gratefully.

By the weakness in her standing, Linaria had a feeling it wouldn’t be a good time to interrogate the poor woman anytime soon. Nonetheless, she was glad of Ourcen’s safety, and seeing her selfless act of service for the child had put to rest any suspicions Linaria had over the nun’s involvement with the recent incidents.

Thancred gave them a jovial two-fingered salute. “I will see you shortly, ladies. Tread carefully.”

* * *

Later that evening, once Sister Ourcen had been placed in the care of Isembard at the infirmary and her safe return reported to Father Iliud, Linaria took the liberty of procuring a meal for herself and Thancred from the tavern-keep, and awaited him by the camp’s entrance, perched on the fence. As he made his way down the road, she extended the paper-wrapped parcel of food towards him. Zephyr pecked at it curiously, and Linaria pushed the hawk aside. “You’ve had your dinner,” she scolded.

“How kind of you to wait on me,” Thancred laughed. “I trust our poor rose is in good care?”

“Yes,” Linaria unwrapped her sandwich and took a small bite. “Though we didn’t make any progress today, we at least saved a life. That’s well enough for me, but all things considered – I thought it best that we set up camp for the night up here rather than in a cozy inn room, so that we could keep watch for any happenings.”

“You’ll have no complaints from me,” Thancred hopped up beside Linaria, and offered a corner of his sandwich to her hawk. Zephyr hopped down Linaria’s arm and accepted the token of peace, allowing Thancred to sit beside them without nipping at his fingers. “Though we ought to find a place a bit more comfortable. It would not do to have us _both _staying up the entire night and go about our tomorrow completely restless. I, for one, would prefer one of those patches of grass to sleep on.” Where Thancred had indicated, Linaria saw a small copse of trees, large enough that they could only belong to a decent patch of fertile ground.

“That’ll do,” she agreed.

As they settled down, Linaria leaned her bow and quiver against the tree-trunk before seating herself beside them, pleased to note that the grass was softer and less coarse than the sprouts elsewhere found in the desert. Zephyr chose a branch higher up to hunker down, her flutterings causing small dried leaves to drop on Linaria and Thancred below.

The latter must have been rather famished, Linaria mused, to be eating so determinedly that he was not attempting to talk her ear off for once. She had a small idea bite of her own sandwich, folding her knees up to her chest and looking up at the waxing night sky.

The glimmer of stars was harder to make out behind the massive wall of bright orange and yellow crystal that rose up from the earth to the east: the Burning Wall, one of the many artifacts of Eorzea’s calamities. The structure towered at least a malm into the air, the crystalline branches like so many clawed hands reaching up for the heavens.

“Were you there?” She asked, suddenly. “On Carteneau, that day.”

“Mhrm?” Thancred mumbled through a mouthful of bread, and saw her staring pensively at the Wall. “Oh.” He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, dusting crumbs onto the empty parchment paper before him. “No, I was not… t’was not my role to be on the front lines that day. Master Louisoix had relegated me and my peers to oversee the supplications offered up to the Twelve, for his binding ritual. Of course, for all my prayers unto those etched rocks, little did it do to help.” He chuckled. “Whatever he did at the end, Louisoix’s salvation of Eorzea was by his hands and his sacrifice alone.” He traced the tattoo on his neck with the tip of his finger, and tilted his head to the ground, his hair veiling his eyes.

Linaria’s head throbbed and her vision blurred. Rather than fighting the now-familiar feeling, she closed her eyes, and let the Echo show her what it would.

> ** _Thancred was knelt before the statue of Nald’thal, motionless in his supplications to the deity. The chamber was occupied with blue aetherial light, ringing with energy; but otherwise empty, the only soul he who was deep in prayer. There was a distant crackling, rumbling; the occasional explosion of monstrous impacts from beyond._ **
> 
> _The streets of Ul’dah? Did the Calamity strike so far?_
> 
> ** _In her dreaming, she drew closer to Thancred, and the fervency of his aura was nearly overwhelming. Helplessness, desperation; a faith that feigned absolute credence. Linaria continued to observe passively, until Her voice permeated into the vision._ **
> 
> ** _“Hear. Feel. Think.”_ **

“But what of you? Where were you on that fated day?” Thancred’s questions surfaced above the Mothercrystal’s ethereal adjuration. Linaria winced as she came back to the waking world. If Thancred had noticed her brief departure into his past, he made no indication of it.

She turned her enchanted ring over the smooth fabric on her gloved finger. “I was doing some needle-work,” she said slowly, “with my mother.” Perhaps out of an obligation to impart her own memory of that day, after intruding on his, she began her recount in full.

“My father was out hunting our dinner. With the growing disasters that came for each day Dalamund grew nearer, he had taken some time away from his Company to visit us back home – both to see how my training was progressing and to collect a new set of gear for his men-in-arms. I was so very tired, and the only thing that kept me spinning that wheel was my father’s promise of a plump roast turkey once we were done with our work. The red moon’s presence on the horizon was no new spectacle, and one that I had begun to take for granted.

“But then Dalamund _hatched_, and the lights that exploded throughout the sky as Bahamut burst forth commanded our enthrallment, far as we were from those fields of fire. My father had no soon returned than the three of us fled to take refuge in the town hall’s basement – not much of a safety bunker, mind you, but a city in the plains would not have preparations in place for catastrophes beyond the occasional raiders or wild beasts. From that underground shelter, we would see naught of the unfolding of the Calamity, nor Bahamut’s undoing at the archmage’s hand. All we knew was the silence thereafter.

“Not the most exciting hero’s account, I know. But after that day, the world changed; and returning to life as it was before was a fruitless endeavor. So I chose to change with it. My nineteenth summer was the last of the Astral Era, and with it departed the shades of a girl’s careless adolescence.

“After my father died, I came to a crossroads: I could either stay and be the vaunted hero of my hometown in his stead, or do as he would, and venture to the heart of Eorzea to do what I can to mend this broken land… And that was nearly three moons ago, now.” She smiled wryly.

Thancred had listened in attentive silence, but he spoke then. “Because there were others not doing their part?” He implied the end of their last conversation regarding the Calamity, the previous day.

Linaria thought on the answer she had given him — or rather, the lack thereof. She hadn’t abstained from saying more out of any substantial reservation, but truthfully… “Life-changing though people might make it out to be,” she said, “I didn’t think much of the decision to leave home. It seems the only choice for every local ‘prodigy’ in these times. But at the same time, I think I set out to find who I was beyond just that. If every adventurer is a hero, no one is truly special. So then, what am I besides…?” She stopped. “I’ve rambled on for quite a while,” she frowned, abruptly self-aware.

“We’re bards; story-telling is our trade,” Thancred laughed. “And for all my efforts, this is the first time I’ve heard you speak so many words all at once; I, for one, am quite charmed.”

“That isn’t too hard to accomplish with you, is it?” Linaria shook her head, but her tone was less cold than before. “All the same. You ought to get some rest; with the rate at which you demolished your dinner, the day seems to have taken its toll on you. I’ll take first watch.”

Thancred smirked and laid back in a tuft of grass, resting his hands behind his head. “As you say, wildflower. Try to resist the urge to snuggle up beside me and doze off, would you? It’d be quite the damper on the spirits to have our time together sullied by a stray Amalj’aa blade in the dark, should either of us fail to keep diligent watch.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” she sighed.

* * *

> **_Brother Marques’s Journal_**
> 
> Today… I met an adventurer. Tis not often that I speak with outsiders, but there was an odd familiarity about her.
> 
> Is it possible we met before, in my previous life? I did not deign to ask such a question; but perhaps if it were true, she would have said something.
> 
> I am probably mistaken.


	4. Chapter 4

### 

**Chapter Three: In the Inferno’s Wake**

“Sister Ourcen? The adventurer is here to see you.”

Linaria waited in the hallway as Isembard knocked on the door. Sister Ourcen’s soft voice came from within. “Oh? Please, do come in.” With a nod from Isembard, Linaria slipped in to the small infirmary room and greeted the recovering sister within.

“You look well,” she said, politely. Looking around, the room wasn’t as cramped as the others in the infirmary had looked, since the furniture was more neatly lined along the walls and less cluttered with various objects. Perhaps the carers had taken special attention to Sister Ourcen’s needs; or perhaps she had tidied up herself.

“Thanks to you, my dear.” Ourcen herself was sitting on the edge of her bed. She had just set down the string of prayer beads on the bedside table, and gave Linaria a little wave of greeting. “How kind of you to come visit me.”

Linaria shook her head. “On the contrary, it would be rather careless of me to have just left you here yesterday and not come back at all.”

Sister Ourcen chuckled. “I suppose it is simply a matter of expectations — we always pray for the best and do our utmost in treatment of the others, but never make presumptions as to how an outsider may respond in like.”

“I suppose so.” Looking the pristinely cleaned carpet beneath the bed, Linaria was suddenly conscious of her dust-caked boots.

Noting Linaria’s passing discomfort, Sister Ourcen spoke again. “But I shan’t keep you over-long; I am sure you and your partner have much work to do regarding the investigation yet. As I told that Thancred earlier, however I might help, you need only ask.”

“Speaking of Thancred,” Isembard cleared his throat and leaned in around the corner of the doorframe. “He was looking for you, Linaria — seems you missed each other in your comings and goings this morning. Wanted you to meet up with him by the Amalj’aa encampment just to the southeast of here.”

“Oh? In that case, I’d best not keep him waiting.”

Isembard laughed. “Aye, any woman would be a fool to keep a man like that waiting.”

Linaria scowled, but Sister Ourcen scowled harder. “Any _man_ ought to count themselves fortunate to have an ally like this _woman_ on their side. He should be honored to wait upon her.” She smiled at Linaria. “And as I’m sure he is, dear.”

“…I shall take my leave of you, then.” Linaria was glad of Sister Ourcen’s obtuse response, giving the bard a quick escape from Isembard’s japes – of which Linaria would receive plenty from Thancred, she was certain, soon enough. Sister Ourcen lifted her hand in farewell.

“Stay safe. And do not hesitate to call upon me if there is aught I can do to help.”

* * *

The skies were rarely anything but clear and arid in Thanalan, and that day was no exception. Though mid-day had yet to come, the heat was getting uncomfortable as Linaria crossed the prairie to the spot where she imagined Thancred might be awaiting her. While scouting the area earlier, she had noted the tribal flags marking the Amalj’aa encampment, but it seemed that her colleague had thought to investigate more thoroughly ahead of her.

As she approached the heavy, rough-wrought iron fences, Linaria listened carefully for the sounds of combat within the camp, but she could only hear the rattle of tarp coverings on their tents as they were disturbed by the wind. A moment of concern troubled her; was it _too_ quiet, or should she be glad of the peaceful silence?

An Amalj’aa sentry appeared by the gate,staking his lance into the dirt. As with all of his species, the lizard-man was a good two or three fulms taller than Linaria, and with a build far more stocky and brutish than any Hyur or Roegadyn could possibly boast. The dark brown scales covering his body were dull with desert dust, as was the rusty tip of his spear. Though he had not caught sight of Linaria at her spot on the road-side, she nocked an arrow in preparation as she backed up against the side of the hill, taking care to use the low-hanging leaves of the nearby trees as a veil between herself and the Amalj’aa guard.

Once she was just high enoughto be able to peer over the fence, she craned her neck slightly to get a better look inside the encampment.

The camp itself had been stuffed into every open spot of flat ground available, surrounded by craggy outcrops indigenous to the foothills on all sides. Dotting the levels of steppes and the gaps between crags were more of the twisted iron sections of fencing, in varying degrees of wear and rust from exposure to the elements – not to mention that their careless placement and arrangement would do little to ward off any actual intruders. Linaria counted two large cages and three tents, made of a mixture of sheet metal and red cloth, emblazoned with Ifrit’s sigil; and beside them, a cooking spit and tanning rack.

As for occupants, one of the cages was empty; the other was filled with a trio of coyotes, showing signs of neglect almost as bad as was the ill-tended infrastructure of the camp. Two other Amalj’aa were in sight, conversing by the fire, and there could well have been others within the tents.

_But no sign of Thancred,_ Linaria thought, and her previous concern mounted._ Could he have been captured, and in one of those tents? Or already taken elsewhere?_

Either way, Linaria was not one to back down from a fight. Three to one? She could handle that, easily. Even if there were a couple of out-of-sight reinforcements, she was confident in her ability. With how pathetic their beasts looked, she figured the hounds would go down with no more than a shot or two.

She lifted her bow with the slightest tension on the bowstring, the soft magitek hum inaudible beneath the rustling of the dry leaves around her._ A wind shot, to scatter the coverings? Or a splintering sidewinder, to hit them off-guard from the start…?_ As she prepared to draw, a small cascade of rocks and dust came down behind her, and she whipped around, swinging her bow in a wide arc against her would-be assailant.

“Easy, now!”

Thancred leaned back to duck under the swinging skysteel, sliding forwards and popping up to his full height barely ilms from Linaria’s face. He grabbed hold of her bow on her recoil, and grinned nervously. “Didn’t mean to startle you, wildflower – good to see that you’ve always got your wits about you, though. If I were a lumbering Amalj’aa brute, I’d have caught that blow like sitting dodo.”

“Gods, Thancred,” Linaria shoved Thancred out of her personal space –_ yet again_ – and sighed heavily. “I was thinking the _lumbering Amalj’aa brutes_ had you caught.”

“You wound me, as always, with your words,” Thancred sighed dramatically. “To think that _I_ would fall prey to the Amalj’aa, with all my talents for subtleties? Though, I must say that your concern and call to action on my behalf is quite irresistibly charming.”

If it weren’t for the enemy standing guard twenty yalms away, Linaria would have shot Thancred in the foot out of frustration. Instead, she shoved the arrow back in her quiver and scowled expectantly. Thancred took the hint, and produced a crumpled parchment from his belt. “At any rate, this is what I found in there during my brief foray behind their scaly backs — take a look.”

Linaria unfolded the parchment, and squinted at the print within. “The lettering, though,” she muttered. “Atrocious, is it not? I can barely make out a single word.”

Thancred took it back and cleared his throat. “It so happens that those of my profession have made it a trick of the trade to decipher illegible penmanship — perhaps because so many of my former colleagues were barely literate, but never mind that… Ahem. It says, to my best estimate:

> ’I am full glad that our agreement continues to be profitable. I shall send word shortly as soon as I have more persons to offer, and in the meantime, I recommend that you stay out of sight, as the Flames have started poking their noses around the area.’

“Signed, by one Brother Alnod.”

“‘Alnod?’” Linaria repeated, and frowned. “From my visit to the church and speaking with both the head priest and Ourcen, there is no such person by that name amongst their order. Perhaps our envoy is posing as a brother of the cloth as a means to keeping up a hidden identity in his agreement with the beastmen…?”

Thancred looked back at the Amalj’aa nearby with a grim expression. “Though I doubt they care too much one way or another how they acquire their sacrifices, a false priest funneling individuals to Ifrit’s supply-line is all too convenient a scenario; I fear you may be correct.”

“Hmm…” Linaria lowered her bow again and thought aloud. “There’s something to be said about what it takes to create a believable ruse, though. Just how desperate for salvation are the poor of these parts? Some choose to take refuge in their faith, but when it comes down to it, faith is not enough to save one from the unsustainable nature of fiscal depravity. I think it best that we return to Drybone to continue our investigation with those there.”

“Haven’t we already tried speaking with the beggars?” Thancred asked pointedly.

“Yes, but perhaps that was the wrong avenue. What if we try and consult the more… middle-class folks, with regards to their observations or interactions with the paupers?”

Thancred tapped her nose, withdrawing before she could slap him away. “Brilliant. Not to flaunt my own abilities so soon after my shining success at retrieving intel right under the Amalj’aa’s snouts, but my skill for subterfuge should serve us well in this avenue — wait for me by the camp’s back entrance, and I’ll make some preparations.”

“...Preparations?” Linaria slung her bow back across her shoulder and looked apprehensive, earning herself a wink from her partner.

“Sit tight; I’ll just be making a brief shopping trip back to the Golden Bazaar.”

* * *

_‘Brief,’ he said. _Linaria was not a woman of impatience, but the heat was making her more ornery than usual, and as she sat in the shade by the back entrance to the camp, she scowled expectantly at the slope before her in the hopes that Thancred would make his return sooner rather than later. Zephyr hovered near Linaria’s shoulder and tugged at her hair. “I’m fine.” She shooed the hawk away. Undeterred, Zephyr landed atop the plating on Linaria’s left shoulder and hunkered down to rest her wings.

“Ex...cuse me, missus…?”

Linaria looked across to the caravan traders’ nearby tents, where a hunched-over beggar had hobbled up to one of the female merchants. She had been preoccupied conversing with one of her colleagues, but switched brightly to a smile of greeting at the sound of a potential customer.

“Hello! Is there anything I can assist you with today?” She looked straight over the beggar’s head, and scanned the area. Her smile quickly faded when she saw that the cripple before her was, in fact, the one who had spoken. “Oh. No, I don’t believe there is… move along, please.”

Linaria narrowed her eyes in distaste. By her dress, the trader was hardly well-enough-to-do that she could afford to be turning customers away. Had she truly dismissed the man so readily by his garb that she would not even bother to find if he had the coin to pay for her wares?

The man’s head drooped. “I… I was just hoping that—”

“Listen here, cretin.” One of the other traders, a stocky Roegadyn woman, stepped between the beggar and her colleague. “Being poor doesn’t give you the right to bother whomever you want, whensoever you want. Can’t you see we’re busy doing business here?” Without waiting for a reply, she shoved the beggar away roughly, and he fell into the dirt, his cowl falling further over his face.

Linaria stood and walked over, her jaw tensed. Oblivious to her mood, the pair of traders turned their apathetic sneers into amicable smiles once more at the prospect of an approaching customer.

“Ah, _here’s_ more like it. What about you, miss? Anything we can help you with?”

Linaria glared at the two women, undeterred by the height advantage that the Roegadyn had over her. “I think not.” Turning her back to them, she reached down to offer the beggar a hand. “Are you alright…?”

The Roegadyn woman scoffed. “Tch. Charity will get you nowhere in life, adventurer.” Linaria’s temper flared, and she snapped,

“As if your pride and animosity towards the less-fortunate are helping you climb in the ranks of the _aristocracy_? I think not. The best business the likes of you can feasibly find would be from the most fledgling of adventurers or travelers with barely the gil to spare on wares as _mediocre_ as what you’re—”

She felt a tug, and was surprised to see that the beggar had gotten to his feet and taken her proffered hand in both of his.

“No need for that,” he said, his voice lowered. “Don’t waste your breath.”

Linaria looked at him suspiciously. His voice lacked the quaver it had moments ago. His face was still obscured by the fringe of his cowl and a lock of hair – but in the shadowed lighting, Linaria made out its silvered hue.

_Damn it all. _She turned a cold shoulder to the traders and stormed off, the ‘beggar’ trailing beside her.

Once they were out of earshot and Linaria no longer had to consciously tune out the conceited mutterings left in their wake, she sighed in exasperation. “So this is what you meant by ‘preparations,’ I suppose?” She pushed the cowl off of the man’s forehead, and he straightened up, his limp disappearing as they rounded the corner. Tossing his hair out of his eyes, Thancred shrugged sheepishly.

“I thought it might be more fun to surprise you, but I didn’t think things would go so poorly. ’Twas not my intention to cause you undue stress, and for that I apologize.”

Thancred observed Linaria with intrigue. She was still staring daggers over his shoulder at the two merchants, her brows slanted bitterly downwards. There was a venom in her glare that he had not seen before; though often he caught her ire, never did it come with such thinly-veiled hatred. He wondered at the intensity of her sentiment; weighing the danger of further provoking her. _This seems to have struck a rather specific nerve. Dare I ask what troubles her so?_

“It’s fine.” Linaria interrupted his thoughts with an acceptance to his apology. “We’ve seen enough. Change back into your normal attire and meet me at the chapel to speak with Iliud and Ourcen – I’m going to bring Isembard along.” She turned away so sharply that Zephyr lost her balance on Linaria’s shoulder, leaving the hawk flapping her wings ungracefully to hover where she’d been tossed in the air. Sensing her mistress’s tension, Zephyr looked between Thancred and Linaria as the latter hastened away, and wisely took to the skies.

Making his way to the back exit of the camp once more, Thancred slipped into the shadows where he’d stashed his gear. Pulling the rough-spun tunic over his shoulders and rolling it up carelessly, he continued to ponder at Linaria’s sudden temper.

Throughout his endeavors and adventures, both as a Scion and on personal business, Thancred had observed a great spectrum of individuals: adventurers, nobles, knights…fair maidens— _besides the point_. Yet in his considerations of the Scions’ newest recruit, Linaria’s most noteworthy quality was her invariability. Though not without charm, she was a rational, level-headed woman. Fighting by her side, Thancred had seen her consistency maintaining her cool in the face of danger; observing her from the sidelines, he saw her habitual visits to the Quicksand to enjoy her preferred, simple meals, and the quiet satisfaction with which she carried herself when not occupied otherwise. He was certainly not unfamiliar with her moods of disdain when dealing with a difficult target or client, or in the face of Thancred’s own attempts at winning her over.

_Though, perhaps that challenge itself is part of her appeal. _Chuckling at his wandering thoughts, Thancred shook his head.

_Is it her humility, then? Is that what centers her and keeps her level to the world around her, rather than riding the waves of overzealous fame into which so many adventurers set sail? _He frowned. _No, that can’t be it — she does not strike me as the sort to ensconce herself into the bubble of her own mind as a means of navigating the world._

As he finished dressing and clipped his daggers back onto his belt, Thancred pondered another avenue of thought. Though his previous considerations had entailed what he had seen of Linaria with his own eyes… what of Linaria’s perspective, on the world? Though he was not so pretentious as to assume certainty in the inner machinations of her worldview– but he thought of the times that he was close enough to observe the way she looked at those around her.

There was no shortage of times that Thancred could recall admiring her eyes, striking as they were. He was certain that she knew he was often staring, but was either used to it or didn’t have the time of day to always return a glare or shoo him off. Instead, she would continue to watch her surroundings from a distant gaze, her amber eye nearly as piercing as her avian companion’s, her rose-colored eye veiled by her hair, but equally alert. It was that awareness, that attentiveness to the world, that she was so steady in — and then it clicked, and Thancred snapped his fingers.

Far be it from self-centeredness, it was Linaria’s self-_awareness_ that grounded her to calm, aloof efficacy. She did not think of herself as any more or less than she was, and that balance of certainty, assuredness, and contentment left no room for hubris. It was only to be expected, then, that coming across her complete foil – those who held those tenets to no value and lived their lives in oblivious arrogance – would set her off.

With that conclusion, Thancred felt satisfied, but at the same time passing strange. For his own part, he blazed through life on the ever-changing roulette of fair ladies’ affections and dutiful adherence to his responsibilities. That left little room for concern as to what the trail of broken hearts and shattered identities left in his wake held in terms of opinions of Thancred as a person — so why, then, was he suddenly so concerned as to whether Linaria harbored a deep-seeded dislike for him; why did he _worry_ as to if she perceived him as just another prideful, disillusioned man?

Strapping on his armoured caligae, Thancred shook his head._ And this is why women are best appreciated in fleeting passing, lest long-term connections lead to such tribulations of the mind, _he thought to himself. After all, his line of work left little room for _extended_ relationships, and that had suited him just fine thus far.

He strolled up to the church with his usual jaunty step, his inner musings quite satisfied, and beelined for the back room where he heard Isembard and Linaria’s voices. Knocking lightly, Thancred let himself in, just in time to see Sister Ourcen setting down the crumpled missive retrieved from the Amalj’aa. She shook her head.

“Nay, there is none among us who goes by Alnod. But… this would account for the missing garments noted in our last inventory-taking. I had assumed the last person in charge of laundering had misplaced some, but this gives credible reason to fear that there has indeed been some sort of theft.”

Isembard was pacing back and forth. He and Linaria both looked up to acknowledge Thancred as he entered, but Isembard did not stop shuffling to and fro. “_I _have heard of Brother Alnod,” he muttered gloomily, “which grieves me to conclude that not only has this deceit been happening right under our very noses, but is greatly enabled by my own improper communication with the people of Drybone.” He shook his head.

“Blaming yourself will get us nowhere,” Linaria insisted. Her irritability had faded like a quick-burning candle, and she counseled Isembard with her usual calm. “Now that we’re all on the same page, let’s be certain to get a proper lay of matters.”

“Right, right.” Isembard sighed, and pulled up a stool beside the table to force himself to sit. The space around the room thusly spared from traffic, Thancred slipped over to lean against the wall behind Linaria as Isembard spoke. “Once more, then:

“From what I know of the poor, much of it comes from indirect word-of-mouth, whether that be from the local shopkeepers, traveling merchants, or those from the Church. Of course, and as I’m sure the two of you have observed, it’s not uncommon for those three sources to have wildly varying opinions of the less-fortunate. Opinions entirely aside, I can only tell you a handful of things for a fact. Most of the homeless in the area sleep within the walls of Drybone to shelter from the wilds, but there are a good many who are too proud or distrustful to lay in plain sight. As such, there’s a commune of sorts out by the pond north of here, where groups sometimes camp for the night. It’s there that I’ve heard of Brother Alnod going to say evening prayers with them.”

On both of their turns at the watch the previous night, Thancred and Linaria had indeed seen a handful of people coming and going from the small oasis throughout the night, huddled around small fires and makeshift tents. Sister Ourcen spoke to the second piece.

“But the issue, then… is that there is no Brother Alnod.”

Linaria crossed her arms. “It won’t do for this to carry on as it is.”

“Tonight seems good a night as any for catching fake priests,” Thancred grinned. “So how shall we go about it? Spring a trap, wait from afar?”

Sister Ourcen eyed the weapons hanging from Linaria’s back and Thancred’s waist with clouded worry. “If it is not too much to ask… whatever you do, please try to keep in mind those who might be caught unarmed in the cross-fire.”

“Then we can split up,” Linaria said, decisively.

“Split up?” Thancred echoed, somewhat disappointed.

She turned in her chair towards him, wearing a wry smile. “_Dashing_ as you were in your disguise, it would be rather suspect if you were to hide your hair under a cowl at night; only priests do that. I’d like to think I dress-down more discretely than a Sharlayan; lend me those hempen clothes, and I’ll slip in with the commune. You can keep an eye out for ‘Brother Alnod,’ and come in once we have him.”

“Seems sound to me,” Isembard agreed. “As long as Thancred doesn’t drop the ball when the time comes to act, that is.”

Linaria let out a resigned laugh. Thancred thought he saw her give him a _wink_, but surely it was his imagination – that was _his_ gesture, after all.

“I’ll have to take my chances with him, I suppose.”

* * *

Once evening had settled in, Linaria found herself perched on the side of a fallen log, across from an old man and woman who slept beneath the boughs of a leafy tree. The sand was coarse beneath her bare feet, equally scratchy as the tunic that Thancred had procured earlier, and the cold steel of the hidden dagger at her waist did no favors to her overall discomfort.

She stood to stretch her legs, habitually reaching up to her shoulder to adjust her quiver-strap, and awkwardly defaulting to scratching the side of her neck when she remembered her usual weaponry’s absence. Glad though she was of the borrowed dagger beneath her tunic, she couldn’t deny that there was a certain _nakedness_ to being without her bow. But she knew that it was only a whistle away – though Thancred seemed to disbelieve her, Zephyr was well-trained and strong enough to fly to her mistress’s side while carrying the equipment.

_“Your bird? Carrying THIS huge thing??”_ _Thancred had blinked doubtfully at Zephyr as she settled down atop Linaria’s bow, once she had set it on the ground._

_“Skysteel is much lighter than normal metal or other composite bow materials,” Linaria laughed, as she took the blade that he’d offered her.“And if she can carry a small antelope, she can swing this flimsy thing around. If all goes well though, I won’t be needing it.”_

_“If all goes well, you can still whistle for _me_,” Thancred joked._

_“Or you could pay attention and be watchful, so that I don’t have to.”_

_He had sighed. “Wishful thinking, I know.”_

From the low-laying ground beside the pond, Linaria could not see the hidden place where she had left Thancred and Zephyr, but she was confident that at least _one_ of them was watching her back. At that point, all she could do was wait; it was entirely possible that the false priest would not come by the commune that night, but Linaria would not give up and turn in so soon.

She wandered a short ways out from the shade of the trees that the elderly couple was sleeping beneath, and looked up at the darkened skies, tinted amber by the Burning Wall. The winds were still, but the cool night air left a bite nonetheless. Curious as to whether the water in the pond was warm or cold, Linaria went to dip her toe in the clear water— it was _bitterly_ cold, and she shrank back with a sigh.

“Pardon me, miss… you look a bit chilly. Would you like a blanket? I have plenty to spare.”

A kindly voice brought Linaria’s attention to a stranger approaching. When she turned to see the speaker, she had to hide her look of surprise at the convenience – the man offering her a woolen blanket was dressed in priest’s robes, his face veiled by a cowl, much like Brother Marques. But she was wary to act too soon; as she and Thancred had discussed, on the off chance that an _actual_ brother of the church came by to tend to the poor, it would not do to suddenly accost the man. So she paced out the interaction, careful to let her tousled hair veil the distinctive markings on her cheeks and her odd-colored eyes.

“Thank you most kindly,” she murmured, and took the blanket. It was stiff and starchy, but certainly warm. Looking over the priest’s shoulder, she saw that he had laid an extra one beside the elderly couple as well. As he withdrew his hand and folded it back beneath his sleeves, Linaria caught a glimpse of his hands – they were well-manicured, without the signs of a single day’s hard work. Her suspicion waxed.

The man seemed pleased by Linaria’s receptiveness to his gesture. “Your thanks is not needed. That the Twelve should allow _any_ to live in such squalor is a condition most appalling, in my opinion. Though my brothers and sisters of the cloth say that there is not more they can do with the resources we have here, I still intend to do everything in my power to better your lives.”

“What could you offer?” Linaria asked.

The man laughed. “Well, not that you heard it from _me,_ but my fellows at the Church of Saint Adama Landama are only so powerless because they are not wont to venture forth from the area to seek greater aid. I, on the other hand, regularly make _pilgrimages_, to the surrounding areas, and in doing so I am able to procure better resources.”

“A pilgrimage?” Linaria repeated with her best tone of innocent wonder. “Pray, tell me, Brother… are such pilgrimages things that you must needs embark on by your lonesome, or would it be possible for…”

“For you to come along? I’m glad you asked, my child.” He reached up to take off his hood so that he could smile at her. “You may most certainly come with me; I have been known to take others to a better life. Now then; what is your name? You may call me—”

In spite of herself, and all her preparatory metering of her patience, Linaria did not let him finish his statement. From the moment his face was revealed, Linaria’s caution went to the wind, and the only reason he’d been able to get so many more words out was because she had taken a moment to be mindful of her footing.

She struck the false priest with a sharp uppercut to his chin with her elbow, and stuffed the woolen blanket over his mouth before he could cry out and wake the sleeping beggars no more than five yalms away. Grabbing him by the collar of his cowl, she glared into his face. “Of _course_ it had to be you, Ungust.” Saying his name left a bad taste in her mouth.

Her least favorite merchant wriggled in her grasp, his muffled profanities compounding as she held him fast; by that point he had clearly recognized her, as well.

“Linaria??” Thancred’s loud whisper called her attention, as he skipped quietly around the commune to her side. “Why did you suddenly attack the fellow? What happened to _discretion_ and all th— _oooooh_.” Linaria turned her quarry to face Thancred without an ounce of amusement, and Thancred let out a snicker. “Well, can’t say I blame you. It’s one thing apprehending a new criminal, but another greeting an old friend, eh? Let’s take him someplace a bit out of the way, so we don’t disturb the peace around here.”

“Gladly.” Linaria pulled the dagger from its sheath and pointed it under Ungust’s chin, where she’d hit him. “Walk, and stop shouting.”

They trekked about half a malm away from the settlement, to a spot up against the foothills, before Linaria let Ungust go and tossed him to the ground. He scrambled back up against a nearby rock, breathing heavily. “How could you drag me out here in the middle of the night?? There are wild dogs and beasts and much worse around these parts that would eat us alive without a second thought!”

“Well, _we_ are armed,” Thancred said pointedly, “so the only one who would be in danger of becoming a wild animal’s meal is _you_, if we leave you here tied up. Or if you’re too noisy and draw attention, then we might have to leave you to it. So I’d start talking – _civilly_, if you wouldn’t mind, dear Brother Alnod.”

Linaria kept the dagger leveled at Ungust’s face, and he gulped audibly. “Fine! Don’t hurt me, damnit… I was only doing it to protect my people.”

“And which people would that be, pray tell?” Linaria found it hard to believe that Ungust would be doing anything for anyone’s sake other than his own, but his fear, at least, was genuine.

“The tradesfolk of the Golden Bazaar,” Ungust said, bitterly. “The proper kind, mind you, not the worthless _cretins_ who have made their home there out of convenience. I was born and raised there myself. The Amalj’aa raids began more than a month ago. They would plunder and pillage as they pleased, and between the beggars that make up for a good portion of the population and the rest of the townsfolk knowing nothing but mercantile trade, it’s not like they were able to put up much of a fight. But I didn’t want to sit still and do nothing, so I did what I know how to do best: I approached the Amalj’aa, and as any good merchant would, I made to broker a deal with them. In exchange for the safety of the Bazaar’s people, they wanted the schedule for the shipments of crystals from nearby mines, which I was able to procure through a bit of bribery… and they wanted people, for their rituals.”

“Protecting one’s home is all noble and good, but at the cost of _innocents?_ There must be more to it, if you’re out here selling out your own people.” Thancred pressed.

“My own people?” Ungust scoffed. “Please. With this agreement, I was able to pick and choose as I saw fit. And besides that, the _coin_ was good. Even the best-to-do in the Bazaar could sell mole meat for a lifetime and never see gil of the likes that the Amalj’aa are offering.”

Linaria could not tolerate the smugness that had crept back into his tone. The leather grip on her dagger squeaked under tension as she stayed her hand. “You sacrificed innocent lives to the beastmen so that you could line your own damned pockets?”

“Spare me your contempt!” Ungust snapped. “If you want to want to blame someone for the mess the world’s in, blame the gods!”

“It takes a very small man indeed to pin the wrongdoings of humanity on divine shortcoming,” Linaria hissed.

From the darkness shrouding the foothills, some creature howled into the night, and Ungust shrank down, gritting his teeth. “Do with me what you will, then.”

“Very well.” Thancred took the liberty of delivering a swift and decisive blow to the side of Ungust’s head, knocking him soundly unconscious. He looked at Linaria apologetically. “As much as you seem to have wanted to do that yourself, I thought I’d spare you the chore of sullying your hands on this one yet again.”

“Appreciated.” Linaria sheathed the dagger and handed it back to Thancred. “Contrary to what the drivel from idiot brings out in me, wanton violence is not my preferred means of handling such situations.”

“Fret not, I would never think such.” Thancred laughed, and hoisted Ungust over his shoulder. “Well then. This leg of the case closed, I say we start tying up some loose ends, and lend our efforts to finding the abductees. Shall we?”

* * *

* * *

Two and a half full days without a proper bath or bed had Linaria heartily glad to return to the Waking Sands. Thancred had barely come and gone; in the face of his tireless spirit, Linaria had only taken as much time as necessary to refresh herself before finding Minfilia to discuss her next role. To Linaria’s surprise, Minfilia had no expectations for a formal report, but instead warmly welcomed Linaria into the solar with a cup of chamomile tea and her usual ready smile.

As she sat at the small round table across from the Antecedent, Linaria couldn’t help but wonder, as she tried to think of a word to describe the mood –_ is this what one would consider a_ _tea party?_ Linaria had not partaken in such silly and impractical leisures in her youth, given that such social occasions would do little to serve her in the field in the future. But cupping the sweet cup of floral brew, nestled in the cozy chair, Linaria thought that the moment was quite pleasant.

Her quiet contentment did not go unnoticed, and Minfilia laughed in amusement. “I was worried that you might decline my invitation for a brief tea-time, given how busy I’ve left you and your propensity for keeping on your feet.”

“I…” Linaria took a small sip, weighing the tasteful bitterness of her drink. “I was not expecting this to be a social call, but I certainly have no complaints,” she smiled into the cup, feeling a bit silly for her childlike cheer of the moment.

“Well, I am full glad of that,” Minfilia sat back in her chair, beaming. “After sending you off so soon since you joined us, I thought it could be nice to sit down for a bit together. Tell me – how has it been, working with our Thancred? I hope he hasn’t given you _too_ much trouble. He has been dear to me as family since I was very young, but I am well aware of his occasional insufferable tendencies.”

“He was sufferable,” Linaria replied, and Minfilia laughed again. “Backhanded humor aside, I’ll be honest: I’ve certainly worked in groups before, but never for more than a brief job. I certainly understand the merits of working with a partner, but being a… _personable_ comrade, myself, has never been a priority on such endeavors.”

“Oh, I’m sure you’ve charmed him without even trying,” Minfilia waved her hand. “And part of the reason I sent him along with you is for you to get the chance to see if it’s any different when you’re accompanied by a long-term acquaintance rather than arbitrary ‘fellow’ adventurers.”

“He’s more acquainted with me than I am with him, by nature of his task to assess my ability,” Linaria quipped, “but I suppose that discrepancy is partially my fault, as well. I could have taken the effort to know him better throughout the moons I’ve spent in and around Ul’dah.”

“I’m not asking you to force yourself to hold hands with anyone here, Linaria,” Minfilia assured, “I’d just like for you to get a chance to bond with some of the Scions – so, little victory though it may be, I am pleased to hear that you and Thancred have been getting along.

Linaria let out a smile. “It’s a work in progress.”

“Progress, nonetheless!” Minfilia lifted her cup. “And that aside, I applaud you for your work well done with the investigation. Thancred filled me in on the important details whilst you took your much-deserved rest and refreshment, so you needn’t reiterate the minutiae of the last two days, unless you would prefer to. Otherwise, I would have us strike while the iron is hot, and proceed right away.” With a nod of affirmation from Linaria, Minfilia continued. “Wonderful, then. A small unit of the Flames is to be dispatched to the rendezvous point where Ungust was to meet with the Amalj’aa for their next sortie. Once the trap is sprung, the goal is to take down the Amalj’aa elites and proceed with our direct dealings with their kind from there. It’s not likely that we’d get an audience with them by any other means. While a larger force would be impractical given the local geography, Thancred will be accompanying a supplementary group of Flames and their Bloodsworn to help with the cleanup, set to arrive at a delay – but as for you, the Flames would also like an envoy of the Scions to participate in the action group, if you’re willing.”

“Of course.” Linaria nodded. “I’d be honored.”

“Hopefully, all goes well and you won’t have to get your hands _too_ dirty,” Minfilia set her cup down and placed her hands on her lap with a sense of finality. “Once again, I shall pray for your safety, and have no doubts as to your success.”

_A sense of reassuring confidence, and a proud wish for luck. _Linaria had seen a formal and requisite smile in many an employer or ally, but the smile that Minfilia wore was one that Linaria had not seen since the days of her youth… a smile that she had forgotten how much she missed.

But _because_ she was her father’s daughter, she knew well enough that to have continued to linger on the memory of his loss would only invite hindering sadness into her heart.

“…I won’t let you down.”

* * *

The stage for their meeting with the Amalj’aa turned out to be the same locale in which Linaria and Thancred had rescued Sister Ourcen. Hidden in the scattered ruins behind cracked walls and pillars, Linaria and seven Flame troops lurked out of sight, weapons drawn at the silent ready.

Ungust had been set loose to walk to his planned meeting; his captors were certain that the knowledge of eight blades pointed at him from the shadows would be enough to dissuade the man from trying to flee or otherwise blow cover. He stood in the center of the rubble-covered courtyard, nervously fidgeting with the hem of his robe as he eyed the imps that lazily circled the ruins.

Soon, the sound of heavy footsteps heralded the Amalj’aa’s approach: a lancer, archer, and thaumaturge. Though the flames had the lizard-men outnumbered, the young Hyur beside Linaria was struck by palpable fright at the sight of their enemies’ towering figures. As he trembled under his helm, Linaria gave him a soft nudge.

“Hold steady,” she said quietly.

_This one’s still green,_ she realized, _but as Minfilia entrusted this task to me, I would wager that his superiors set him about on this mission as a test of sorts._

She looked around the corner, watching Ungust and the Amalj’aa greet one another, then past them across the courtyard, where the squadron leader was in hiding. His keen eyes darted about, sizing up the enemy, and then he began to raise his hand to give the signal—

Then his eyes went wide, and he staggered forwards. The disturbance caught the Amalj’aa’s attention, but they merely stood still, watching as the squadron leader fell forwards to the ground, a bloody knife in his back.

“C-Captain!!” Before Linaria had time to process what was happening, the boy beside her had darted out of cover and run to his comrade’s side. From the shadows, one of the other men from their unit stepped into the sunlight, and pulled his blade from the captain’s body. The boy shook his fallen leader’s body desperately. “Why would you betray us, Farulf??”

Farulf, a rugged Highlander, shrugged unapologetically, leaning forward to wipe his blade on the boy’s tabard. “Sorry, sprout… but blood money pays better than what we get workin’ for Ul’dah.”

All around them, more heavy footsteps and the clanging of steel echoed about the ruins, from the hills above, the side passages, and even from behind them. Linaria was forced out of cover by a unit of Amalj’aa advancing from the rear. _To think that our ambush would be ambushed,_ she thought bitterly. _They knew we would have no rear guard._

The Amalj’aa began incapacitating the Flames with ease, and soon all six of Linaria’s comrades were on the floor bleeding, unconscious, or both. Ungust turned to her, his arms crossed and a sneer etched across his face. He took a sword from one of the fallen soldiers, and pointed it at the boy at his feet. “Set your weapon down, _adventurer,_ or he’s dead right here and now.”

Linaria gritted her teeth, her bowstring taut and and leveled.

“W-watch out! Behind you!” From beneath Farulf’s foot, the young boy shouted a warning. Linaria turned to see a flux of magic flying at her, filling her field of vision before it struck her fully in the chest. Her hand slipped loose from her bowstring, the arrow burying itself in the ground.

As her vision dimmed and darkness clouded her mind, she crumpled to the floor. The last thing she saw before falling unconscious was the outline of Ungust’s frame, looking down at her in disdain.

“Take her,” he said.

**.**

**.**

**.**

By the time the arcane torpor had worn off, the sun was sinking beneath the foothills, and light was growing scarce. Linaria blinked the bleariness out of her eyes and looked around. They had been moved to a cavern of sorts… _still in Thanalan, by the looks of it._ Torches, held by Amalj’aa guards at the entrance, cast flickering light across the rough walls, outlining the towering silhouettes of Linaria’s captors. She shifted slightly, and was not surprised to find that her hands were bound.

Behind her, she saw three of her captured comrades; where the others had gone, she didn’t dare to imagine. The young boy was amongst them. When he saw that Linaria was awake, a look of something like relief crossed his face. Linaria couldn’t fathom why; as she was, there was nothing she could do to change their situation. She closed her eyes for a moment.

Were she alone, perhaps the encounter would not have played out so disastrously. If she hadn’t hesitated, she could have been able to fight enough of the Amalj’aa off that she could escape and meet up with the Bloodsworn unit, regroup, and…

She opened her eyes and shook her head. _There’s no use pondering on what could have happened._

Sliding over to the boy and the other bound Flames, she wiped the frown off her face. “What’s your name?” she asked, addressing the trembling soldier beside her.

“Be…Bedric,” he said, hoarsely.

“Bedric,” she repeated, and nodded. “I know things seem dire; but do not lose hope just yet. With any luck, the reinforcements will hasten to our aid once they realize that the plan has gone awry. Then—”

“Quiet!” The Amalj’aa lancer from before stalked over to the prisoners. “On your feet. It’s time to go.”

Linaria and the others stood, and began their forced march. The path leading away from the cavern was lined with more standing torches, draped with Amalj’aa banners. It was only a short distance before they came to a large, open clearing. Piles of crystals, overflowing from crates here and there, shimmered with aetherical energy. An intricate circle had been drawn on the ground in black ash, and an Amalj’aa summoner stood before it, a massive bone staff across his back. He leered at the prisoners as they were thrown on the ground before him.

“Good. All preparations are in order, then. To your positions!”

The ritual master lifted his staff, and three other Amalj’aa priests stepped forwards onto the cardinal positions around the circle. All other movement seemed to cease; the sounds of rustling arms and armor, dry leaves in the wind, and dust through the galleys all halted as the Amalj’aa began to chant.

“_Lord of the Inferno… hearken to our plea!_

_Lord of the Inferno… deliver us from our misery!_

_O Mighty Ifrit…_ ** _ Lord of the Inferno_ ** _!”_

The crystals glowed brightly for one last moment, before shattering into pure aether and lighting the outlines of the summoning circle on the ground. The color of the skies shifted, and a dark sphere materialized in the clouds high above them. A ring of fire blazed to life around its perimeter; a simulacrum of a solar eclipse. The clouds parted around the orb, and the dark sphere abruptly collapsed into itself, creating a massive shockwave that sent Linaria and the others to their knees. She heard Ungust squeal like a child.

Forcing her head up to look at the skies as they were cast in fire, Linaria made out a shimmering rift. From the rift a huge, bestial form emerged, rearing its head and letting out a roar to pierce the heavens. It tore free from the portal of its summoning and streaked to the ground, landing at the center of the ritual circle with a deafening boom.

Linaria had encountered all manner of demons, voidsent, and other twisted beasts, but the being before her had an aura more dominating than any foe she had ever faced. Ifrit was larger than a mammoth; his curved spine and four limbs were reminiscent of other demonkind, but his dark hide rippled with veins of pure fire, the heat from which warped the air around him. A pair of long, curled horns extended from his draconic head, matching the wicked spikes adorning his arms and back. The long talons on his hands and clawed feet glowed like molten rock, and when he opened his eyes, his entire body rippled with power.

The Amalj’aa bowed before their lord, and the ritual master spoke. “O mighty Ifrit… we offer up to You those who know not of Your godhood. If it please You, Lord, scorch their souls with Your cleansing flame, and mark them as Your own!”

Linaria felt a sharp blade at her back, and she was forced back onto her feet along with the others.

“Those two, as well,” the ritual master added roughly, and two more men were flung on the ground before the fire god.

Ungust and Farulf tried to scramble backwards to safety. “Wh-what?? This isn’t what we agreed upon!” Farulf snapped.

The Amalj’aa lifted their blades threateningly. “None but servants of Lord Ifrit may behold the rite of summoning. The souls of unbelievers are forefeit!”

“No…no, please! Please, I beg you! Spare me!” Ungust screamed, wild terror in his eyes.

Linaria lowered her head. _Treachery begets treachery._ She glanced to her left, and saw Bedric’s fearful green eyes locked onto the beast before them. She took a step over and pressed her arm against his.

_I will not cower,_ she resolved, _I will face this fate standing._

**“Pitiful children of man.” **Ifrit spoke. His voice echoed in a language unfamiliar to her ears, but Linaria understood every word as clearly as if it were written into her mind.**“By my breath, I claim you! Arise once more as my loyal subjects – feed my flames with your faith, and all who stand against us shall burn.”**

“No! NO!”

Ungust’s shrill cries were drowned out by the rumble of fire forming in Ifrit’s throat. It danced with aetherical power, hues of blue and white wreathing around the primal’s jaws before he leaned forwards, breathing his flames onto the sacrifices before him.

Linaria felt the bindings around her wrists disappear; whether it was through Ifrit’s magicks or the heat of his flames, she didn’t know, but she instinctively raised her hands to shield her face from the flames. They raged around her for only a moment – before she had time to register what was happening, it was over. There had been no heat, no pain; she looked at her hands and body, and there was not a single scorch mark in sight.

_“Oh… Mighty Ifrit….”_

Linaria snapped to attention as the men around her slowly rose from the ground, where they had crumpled. It was Bedric who spoke, but between the boy and Linaria, Ungust had stood and lurched forwards. His eyes were glazed over, colorless white orbs that stared glassily unto Ifrit, reflecting the florid beast before him.

_“My one true god…”_

Linaria took a step back. _So this is the enthrallment that Minfilia and Thancred spoke of…_ Her heart was racing. _But why am _I_ not affected?_

The Amalj’aa were similarly baffled.“By what sorcery do you resist my master’s will!?” The ritual master roared. “Could it be…? Your soul already belongs to another! Yes, that is the only explanation!” Murmurs broke out about the lizard-men, and Linaria heard weapons being drawn, pointed at her.

**“Stay thine arms!”** Ifrit bellowed. At his command, the Amalj’aa fell silent, the enthralled Flames and Ungust with them, all kneeling once more. **“Her life is Mine and Mine alone! You… Daughter of Man. Step forth.”**

Without much alternative, Linaria did so. She walked until she was just within the remains of the summoning circle. Ifrit lowered his head and stared at her, the scent of carbonized matter pouring from the apertures along his jaw as he looked her up and down.

**“Forsooth… thy frail mortal flame can serve as vessel to the blessing of but One. Yet I smell not the taint of another upon thee…”** He reared his head back.** “The truth of thine allegiance waxeth clear – thou art of the godless blessed’s number. The Paragons warned of thine abhorrent kind. Thine existence is not to be suffered!”**

The summoning circle roared to life once more, forming a ring of fire around Linaria and Ifrit. This time, she could feel the heat of the flames, and she knew that this was not Ifrit’s fires of baptism — if he had failed to claim her soul, then he meant to scorch it from existence.

_The godless blessed? The Paragons? _Linaria had no time to ponder on Ifrit’s strange words. Beneath her feet, the ground began to rumble, and Linaria vaulted to the side just as the patch of earth she had just been standing in erupted into a vent of fire. She winced; the enchanted and enhanced fibers in her tabard and armor would protect her from some of the heat, but not for long. Yet still, she would not simply sit still and die… _not for the likes of this over-sized campfire._ She put her fingers to her lips, and whistled.

From the wings, Zephyr soared over the Amalj’aa. Faithful as ever, she had retrieved Linaria’s weaponry from wherever her captors had tossed it, dropping it just within Linaria’s reach. Dodging the next explosion, Linaria ducked down and scooped up her bow, and the four arrows that had spilled from the dropped quiver.

“Get out of here!” She commanded, and with a screech and rustle of singed feathers, Zephyr was gone.

Ifrit looked down at the newly-armed woman with amusement. **“Thou art brave, mortal, to stand so against me. But I will show you that your strength is for naught – come! Succumb to the Inferno!”**

He loosed a wide cone of fire, and Linaria had to dash forwards to duck under it, rolling beneath Ifrit’s massive body and between his wicked claws. He kicked out at her with a hind leg, catching her by the flank and sending her spinning off to the side; she stabbed one of her arrows into the ground to stop her tumble from carrying her into the wall of fire, and scrambled to her feet. Ripping the arrow free, she set it to her bowstring, and with a cry and flux of emperyal lights, loosed a bolt at the fire god. Ifrit bellowed in surprise and pain as the enchanted arrow buried itself in his shoulder. With that affirmation, Linaria wasted no time in preparing a second shot, leaping over Ifrit’s tail as he lashed out at her, and clipping his flank. Rolling forwards, she sent the third bolt straight up into his chin, before dodging back out to the side.

**“You fool!**” Ifrit snarled, clawing at the air. **“Thy soul shall burn for eternity…!”**

The entire surface of the ground within the circle began to glow, and Linaria felt an incredible heat rise up through the earth. Her lungs burned from inhaling the smoke-filled air, and flecks of ash stung at her eyes. She focused her vision, making out the three prongs of light that marked her strikes on the primal, and nocked her last arrow.

* * *

Thancred ran, leaping over the bodies of felled Amalj’aa zealots and Flame soldiers alike. His allies had wasted little time dispatching the beastmen they had come across; he expected no less of the Flame General’s hand-picked men. But there was no time to rest on appreciation. Since the sky had erupted and the creature of flame burst forth, time had begun ticking with grueling consequence on each passing second. 

It had been less than an hour since the growing misgiving in his chest had proven true, and the Bloodsworn group found the bodies of three Flames from Linaria’s unit scattered around the intended meeting-site. Since then, Thancred and the Flames had been blitzing a path across the foothills, tracking down the Amalj’aa to their stronghold in Zanr’ak, to the very heart of their Ifrit-worshipping conclave. The elite soldiers cut through the Amalj’aa as they came in droves and droves, and as Thancred battled through the lizardmen’s ranks, he could spare no energy for thought – his only focus was the flurry of steel that flew from his hands, as he tore ever onwards to the heart of Zanr’ak.

In hindsight, he would realize that to call upon Minfilia and the others for additional support would have been prudent; after all, the situation was now an active primal threat, and should worse come to worst, there was not much Thancred and even the best of the Flames could do. But with the foundation of their plan to counteract the Amalj’aa’s summoning activities in absolute shambles, the only thing on Thancred’s mind was damage control – and in that case, it meant finding what happened to the five members of the action group who were then unaccounted for… one of particular concern, especially.

Thancred hadn’t been told that Linaria would be joining the forward group, he had only learned of her involvement with the trap when he went to rendezvous with his own unit, and found her not amongst them. He had certainly been disappointed to not be able to see out the end of their mission side-by-side, but had full confidence that she would handle her role with her usual practiced ease. But as he tore through the Zanr’ak stronghold, his clothes stained with Amalj’aa blood and the din of adrenaline ringing in his ears, that confidence haunted him like a vengeful specter.

The closer he drew to their destination, the louder became the unworldly roars that echoed from the centre, even above the din of battle. Impatiently, he cut down the nearest Amalj’aa that was growing threateningly close, and climbed up onto the edge of theiron trimmings along the walls to run above the conflict. From that height, he could see the path that led out from the network of crevasses and caverns, lined with felled Amalj’aa in the wake of the Bloodsworn.

Bursting into the clearing, where the oppressive stench of blood and battle had more room to ventilate, Thancred leapt back to the ground, breathing heavily, and took in his surroundings.

In his immediate vicinity, the Bloodsworn had incapacitated all of the Amalj’aa and were holding a perimeter around the empty crates and toppled braziers. But just beyond that, a ring of fire at least thirty yalms wide raged, unchecked. The heat radiating from it was nearly unbearable, and the soldiers were taking care to stay a safe distance away – if not for the fire, from the battle raging within.

Ifrit loomed at the center of the circle in all his primal glory, the horns and spikes along his back glowing with hellfire. With each roar, another pulse of flame burst forth from his body, sending the men outside the ring cowering, and rousing a chorus from the enthralled. But as he squinted through the flames, Thancred saw a lone figure standing at the primal’s feet. She was covered in ash and dust, but when she lifted her distinctive bow, Thancred recognized her immediately.

“Linaria!?”

She didn’t respond to his call, which was lost amidst the roaring fire. But as he watched, a bright light began to glow around her, and a full, ringing song rose above the crackle of the flames. With a cry far smaller than the primal’s roar, but with vindication to match, Linaria drew an arrow, seemingly condensed from the light around her. It flew from her hand with enough recoil to send her staggering backwards.

The apex shot ripped through the air as it found its mark, square in the center of Ifrit’s chest. The primal screamed a terrible scream as the bolt burned clean through his body, and then fell silent. As if the breath of every Amalj’aa in the area was drawn to the center of the clearing in that one moment, with one great inhale, Ifrit grew still — and then in the next moment, his body collapsed in on itself, shattering into motes of crimson aether.

Just like that, the fires of Zanr’ak went out. As the ring of flame was extinguished, Linaria lowered her bow, her arms shaking, and stared at the place where Ifrit had just stood.

* * *

Before her shone a vermilion crystal. It laid unassumingly on the ground, just within reach. She lowered herself down to claim it, and as soon as she touched it, a myriad of lights burst behind her eyes.

A clear ringing filled her ears. As her vision returned, she looked around – gone were the sands of Thanalan, replaced by the familiar blanket of stars from her dreams. The vermilion crystal shone before her, and as she watched in wonder, her azure crystal appeared beside it, hovering in space. Together, they resonated with an otherworldly power. Then, Linaria heard Her voice.

> ** _“Hear. Feel. Think.”_ **

She blinked, and the stars vanished. The crystal was in her hand, but she felt the ground fall away from under her, and found herself on her back, looking up at the sky at sunset.

_Am I… alive?_

A familiar face filled her field of vision. He wore a practiced grin, in spite of the chaos that he had just fought through. “Pray forgive my lateness,” he said, clearing his throat. “Are you—?”

Linaria stared up at Thancred. Perhaps it was her imagination, or perhaps dreams were intruding onto her consciousness ahead of themselves, but she wondered…Was his smile always so secretly troubled? Had his hazel eyes always swirled with fear and doubt beneath his paramour facade? She tried to reach up towards him, but her arm would not move. She opened her mouth, but she could not speak. The world began to darken for the second time that day.

The last thing she felt was Thancred grabbing onto her hand. At the back of her mind, she habitually wished for the energy to swat him out of her personal space, but it eluded her. But his touch was warm, and as he squeezed her fingers gently, he said something inaudible under his breath, his voice cracking.

_How strange,_ she thought, and fell unconscious.


	5. Chapter 5

### 

**Chapter Four: A Song for the Past**

“Thancred… wake up,” Minfilia whispered as she touched his arm. He opened his eyes sluggishly, the previous days’ lack of proper sleep having caught up to him. As he looked around blearily, he furrowed his brow.

Minfilia was looking at him with a mixture of concern and disapproval. “’Tis far from appropriate for you to be taking your rest here. You have your own room just down the hall.”

_Where, then…?_ He sat up stiffly, and found himself awkwardly nestled in an armchair, pulled up sideways beside the bed. As he rolled his shoulders, wakefulness brought his attention to the bed’s occupant, and his heart sank. The memories of the previous evening came flooding back.

_She looked up at him, seemingly unaware that he’d scooped her into his arms — because, if she was aware, he would probably be reprimanded for it. He searched her face in unveiled panic, and a brief swell of relief broke over him as he saw the clear hues of her eyes, untouched by tempered influence. Yet something was wrong; though the ash and scorch across her cheeks and streaking her tabard was plentiful, she bore no fatal wounds, but yet…?_

_Before he saw her fall, Thancred took care to force a smile to greet her; if she was still standing, by whatever miracle, surely all would be well, and his cyclone of regret and self-deprecation for his missteps could wait. As she collapsed, his heart seemed to lag behind his actions, even as he felt how heavy she was in his grip._

_“Pray forgive my lateness. Are you—?”_

_She didn’t speak in response to his unfinished query, but the way she regarded him was through a different window, a different facet of her soul, and it was so singular and unnerving that his words failed him. She tried to say something, but her eyes started to drift shut, severing the moment and trance that her vulnerable gaze had cast on him. He couldn’t help himself — he clasped her hand in a panic, and she looked up at him once more through half-lidded consciousness._

_“L-Linaria?!” His voice cracked in uncharacteristically genuine alarm; fear, even, that the light was about to fade from those eyes. _

What was it about her, what was it about that moment that had affected him so?

_Even as he carried her to the carriage, demanding that the driver bear them back to the Waking Sands with all haste, his thoughts raced without direction. She did not stir so much as once on the entire journey, and he held her tightly to protect her from the worst of the bumpy ride._

_Only when Y’shtola and Urianger were there, and hovering over Linaria with all their attentiveness and expertise, did Thancred snap to the present._

_Y’shtola was working across Linaria’s face and neck with a damp cloth, cleaning the ash and blood while simultaneously mending her minor wounds with healing magicks. Meanwhile, Urianger stood at the foot of the bed, his aetherometer pulled over his face as he silently observed something with great interest. Noticing as much, Thancred pulled his own aetherometer from his shoulder and raised it to see for himself._

_He drew a sharp breath. Hovering around Linaria’s body, close to her heart, was not one crystal but two. Water and fire aether danced around her own aetheric flow; the gentle pulses from the water crystal’s aetheric signature beat in time with her heart, but the aura of fire blazed with indignation at her very soul._

_“Mine conclusion,” Urianger stated, “is thus: she hath withstood the power of Ifrit’s primal strength, yet not without an impact on her own aether, which doth now be cast into great imbalance,” Urianger stated._

_“Well,” Y’shtola put her free hand on her hip. “That shouldn’t be too hard of a fix then, will it?”_

_“Aetheric manipulation dost remain somewhat of thine specialty, after all,” Urianger nodded in approval._

_“Why, thank you.” Y’shtola set the soiled cloth down on the bedside table, and slipped her wand from the belt at her waist. Holding it aloft, she narrowed her eyes, her tufted ears flicked back in concentration. A steady stream of pure-white, cleansing aether blossomed over Linaria, evenly weaving its way around the raging fire aether that tore at her. As Thancred watched, the vermilion blaze quieted, until it settled into a gentle helix of light in the same frequency as that of her crystal of water, circling in subdued oscillations. He pulled his aetherometer off and dropped it into his lap. It was too soon to feel relief, but he was grateful nonetheless._

_“Thancred, what of thou?” Urianger turned, a frown of worry quirking at his mouth. “By the color of the blood that adorns thine attire, I would fain to say it is Amalj’aa and not thine own; I see no injuries of thy person.”_

_“Well, yes, that would be the case,” Thancred muttered, “because ’twas not I who so much as stood before Ifrit.”_

Thancred ground his teeth, and Minfilia’s disapproving frown turned to an expression of compassion and concern.

“What’s done is done, Thancred. There is naught to be gained from reminiscing in regret.”

“My carelessness and lack of foresight could have cost Linaria her life,” Thancred said hoarsely.

“But it didn’t.”

“That’s besides the point,” he snapped. “You tasked me with one job, of utmost priority: to watch over her and be her partner in the field. I failed to protect her when I should have. This is why I’ve always worked alone.”

Minfilia clenched her fists, crumpling the upper part of her skirts. “My purpose in that prerogative was not to test your competence, but your compatability.”

He scoffed. “Much as I appreciate your attempt at _matchmaking_, I would say I’ve soundly failed in that aspect as well. Just as I have in so many—“

“Thancred!” Minfilia’s voice raised in astonishment at the animosity of his reply, but she quickly hushed herself, reminded of the sleeping woman not so much as a fulm away. “Please. I would thank you to not think my intentions so shallow.”

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, and turned away. “’Twas wrong of me to speak out like that. Such an assumption is no more than my usual path of reasoning; in moderatism, I know that was not truly your goal. Nonetheless…” He cast one more glance at Linaria’s sleeping face. She rested peacefully, her eyelids flickering every now and then with the indication of dreams unknown to him. “If she would have me, I want another chance. To prove myself. Send me with her on the next assignment.”

“You would have my full support,” Minfilia nodded, her forgiveness immediate. “This seems somewhat unlike you, though. To worry so with regards to her opinions of you…?”

“She’s not some belle that I’ve taken on a stroll down the street. This is a different sort of arrangement; _that_ you should know full well.”

“I do not mean to doubt your professionalism,” Minfilia put a hand over her lips, masking a wry smile. “But I cannot help but see that she has affected your heart in a particular way.”

“Your Echo is not welcome in my head at this time,” Thancred growled; but the frustration had begun to pass with the lighthearted nature of Minfilia’s tone.

“Very well,” she bowed, “pardon my intrusion. But if you would allow me one more potential overstep; do try to remember that I am always trying to look out for you. After all, you have spent many years doing the same for me.”

Thancred cracked a small smile. “I suppose so.”

How long had it been, since he had taken Minfilia’s protection as his cardinal priority, his primary charge? It was even before Louisoix had crowned Thancred an archon, before the days of the official Scions; when Minfilia was still just a young girl…

_A young girl, fatherless because of my brazen incompetence. Because I thought that I was strong enough._

Thancred shook his head. There was naught for it but to keep his eyes on the road ahead, no matter how distant the future may feel or seem.

_I will not fail again._

* * *

In her unconscious state, Linaria was somehow aware of having experienced restless dreams and troubled sleep, in spite of not having woken yet. For that awareness, she was grateful for the ease and relative comfort of her dreams – for she _was_ still dreaming, under a blanket of endless stars.

There were times where she would find herself in that dream-state, in that space of the imagination so far removed from reality that she felt terribly lonely, looking out at the vastness of glittering space all around her, without a single familiar sight. But she was not entirely alone then; oriented opposite from one another, yet hovering close to her side, the fire and water crystals danced, shimmering with a force strong enough to ward off the darkness and connect her to the distant lights so far out of reach.

Linaria reached out and played her fingers through the light; as always, her hand passed clean through the crystal as if it had no tangible surface. But as she did so, she felt a surge of energy and vigor swell up within her, a clarity granted by the lifting of a veil that she had not known to hinder her before.

** _“Hear. Feel. Think.”_ **

_Hear what? Feel what?_ The queries were genuine; Linaria felt no exasperation with Her voice, whose cryptic command would most often nuance unanswered questions much more than provide guiding answers.

As the echoes of Hydaelyn’s word faded away, Linaria began to hear a distant song.

> ♪_ To all of her children, in whom life flows abundant…_
> 
> ♪ _To all of her children, to whom death hath passed his judgment…_
> 
> ♪ _The soul yearns for honor; and the flesh the hereafter._
> 
> ♪ _Look to those who walked before,_
> 
> ♪_ To lead those who walked after…_

The voice was familiar, yet distant; the more Linaria focused in on the words, the more she felt herself pulling back to wakefulness.

> ♪_Shining is the Land’s light of justice,_
> 
> ♪_For ever flows the Land’s well of purpose…_
> 
> ♪_ Walk free; believe…_

She blinked, and the array of stars was replaced by the sepia tones of the ceiling’s marbled stone tiles. 

“…The Land’s alive; so believe.”

Minfilia was sitting beside the open window in Linaria’s room, perched on the ledge with her legs drawn up to her chest. She had traded her usual attire for a more casual top and trousers, and her expression was calm and contemplative as she continued to hum to herself.

“I didn’t know you could sing,” Linaria said, and found her voice hoarse from disuse.

Minfilia looked over, strangely unsurprised to see Linaria awake. “My adoptive mother was somewhat of a famous songstress… I have many fond stories to tell that she bequeathed to me both in word and song, but those are for another time. How are you feeling?”

Linaria found that there was a cup of water on her bedside table, and she took a drink. “Well-rested,” she replied. “How long was I out?” Looking out past Minfilia, the light of day was still potent, but Linaria had no sense of the time.

“Since you were brought back, a little over eighteen bells have passed.” Minfilia went over to sit in the chair beside Linaria’s bed. “Truthfully, you would have likely woken sooner had I not allowed Y’shtola to administer you a sleeping aid. She and Urianger thought it best, given the possibility of you deciding to take off as soon as you were able to so much as stand.”

_Eighteen bells?? Brought back? _Linaria struggled to recall the last thing she was aware of by Drybone. A dim memory of Thancred’s face came to mind. “If you were worried that I would run away after the encounter with the Amalj’aa, I can assure you that will not happen,” she said. “I’m well-acquainted enough with the perils of working in the field.”

“Well, this situation is… slightly different.” Minfilia put her hand over Linaria’s with a light and delicate touch, communicating the option to pull away with ease if the contact was disconcerting. The Antecedent then went on to reiterate the aetherical observations that Y’shtola and Urianger had made, and the conclusion of their treatment.

“As a crystal-bearer,” Minfilia said in conclusion, “the _long_-term effects of your connection to the crystals shouldn’t be anything but beneficial. But should you feel anything strange or out of the ordinary that causes you concern in your encounters with primal influence, I hope that you will not hesitate to seek out the Archons’ counsel.”

“If that is the recourse that you suggest, then I shall,” Linaria nodded. She started to rise, stiff from laying for so long. “Anything else of import come to pass?”

Minfilia smoothed her shirt. “Frankly – at risk of overwhelming you – news of your triumph over Ifrit has spread faster than wildfire. Even outside of the Flames, there are many companies that have made efforts to seek you out. Tataru took the liberty of turning most of them down on your behalf, but, well…” Minfilia smiled apologetically. “I did tell her that it would be foolish to refuse the Flame General himself an audience.”

Linaria blinked several times in succession. She had turned down invitations to free companies many times before, for the sake of maintaining her independence — _but now, so soon after swearing my allegiance to the Scions…?_

“I’m not demanding that you go join the ranks of the Immortal Flames,” Minfilia clarified. “Nor do I think that Raubahn wishes to pressure you into doing so himself. From his missive, it seems that he wished to issue you an apology.”

“That’s hardly necessary,” Linaria said, shifting her weight to the side and reaching over to drain her cup of water. “I would hope that our previous interactions have left the impression of an amicable relationship… not that one such as myself is in any position to be making demands of the Sultana’s right-hand.” She found herself starting to make excuses and chase a circular chain of thought. “Nonetheless. With your leave, Minfilia, I’ll travel back to Ul’dah.”

“You needn’t ask so formally,” Minfilia chided, “of course.

Linaria began to depart, but hesitated at the door. “And, thank you; for taking care of me and keeping watch while I rested. You didn’t have to do that, and I’m sure you have many other things to attend to as well.”

“Nonsense. Those under my authority are also under my care,” Minfilia said firmly. “And besides, Y’shtola did most of the _caring_, after all.”

“I’ll be sure to thank her before I leave, then.”

“She’d appreciate the sentiment, I’m sure — come, I believe she’s still in the storeroom taking inventory.”

As Minfilia led the way, Linaria closed the door to her room and followed. Just before the stairs, she noticed the door to Thancred’s room sitting ajar; she took a peek as she passed by to see if he was around as well. But the room was unoccupied, the desk empty save an abandoned quill, and sheets tossed carelessly beside the bed.

* * *

Travelling through the aetherial current was far less troublesome than spending the entire journey from Vesper Bay to Ul’dah falling off of a rental chocobo, and Linaria was quick to shake off the anticipated dizziness from popping out of the aetheryte at the centre of Ul’dah’s plaza.

What she did not expect, however, was the greeting she received thereafter. No sooner than her legs had touched the solid ground of Ul’dahn stonework, she found herself nearly knocked over by a force clipping her shins.

“Mistress Linaria!!” A voice wailed from below eye-level, and she looked down to see a green-haired Lalafell clinging to her left leg. He sniffled loudly. “You’re here, you’re back, you’re well!? I hope?!”

“Ah,” she smiled at him in recognition, a bit embarrassed by the attention that their reunion had called. “I am; and ‘tis good to see you again, Beetroot. Did Minfilia tell you that I was coming?”

“Yes!” The retainer peeled himself away from Linaria, standing up straight. “I have been waiting and praying day and night for your safe return. Master Thancred arrived earlier this afternoon but had no new news,” he said despondently.

The thought of the loyal Lalafell spending bells upon bells standing in the aetheryte plaza and scanning every arrival through day and night was simultaneously heart-warming and concerning. Linaria smiled worriedly. “Well, I hope that my presence now can assuage your worries. I hate to come and go so soon, but I must needs make haste to the Flame headquarters.”

“Yes, yes, of course!” Beetroot saluted. “Allow me to walk with you – it’s just around the corner, after all, and then I shall retire to my own quarters to take some sleep and rest.” He started trotting off, hopping up the stairs with remarkable energy, for one who had taken neither of the aforementioned comforts in recent hours. Linaria followed suit, weaving her way through the foot traffic. Upon the main road, Beetroot jumped up and down again as he remembered something. “Oh! And this is for you.”

A large sack of gil was flung at Linaria, and she caught it as it jingled dangerously. “Wh-what’s this?”

Beetroot puffed out his chest proudly. “I have been filling in for you at the Weavers’ Guild, and Master Redolent Rose has been most pleased with my craftsmanship – not to toot my own horn! I figured that my cut from commissions should go to you; since they are _your_ regular clients, after all.”

Peering inside the sack, Linaria’s eyes widened. “You… have had a busy couple of days,” she said appreciatively. “I can’t possibly take all of this—”

“No! You must!” Beetroot stomped his foot insistently, in a sudden fit of conviction. “As your retainer, what I do in your name is yours. It is my life’s greatest purpose, and to serve one of your prestige is the highest honor I can hope for!!”

In the face of such vehement declarations and dedication, Linaria could not possibly argue. She tightened the drawstrings on the sack with a sigh of defeat. “If you truly insist,”’ she said.

“Yes, that I do.” Beetroot crossed his arms and proudly tipped his chin up in victory. “Anyroad, here we are! You’d best get going before things get too busy.”

Having arrived at the Flame headquarters, Linaria observed the notably heightened hubbub within, with both adventurers and officials streaming in and out in a great hurry. “What’s the occasion?” She asked.

“Why, the remembrance ceremonies, of course! If memory serves correctly, it was you who Raubahn sent out to arrange this affair across Eorzea, no?” Beetroot chuckled, then clasped a hand over his mouth. “B-but…! That is not to say that I blame you for forgetting the date; after all, much has passed in the suns that have come and gone since—”

Linaria _had_ completely forgotten. How long had it been since that roundabout journey; a week? Two?_Actually, much less…_ she realised, _for the day after I returned was the day that I ran into Thancred again, and received his invitation._ As he crossed her mind, she remembered that she still owed him thanks as well, having missed the opportunity to speak with him at the Waking Sands.

_But given his absence as it were, I’d wager that he’s likely around Ul’dah right about now._ She turned to her retainer, offering a change of subject from his prior rambling.

“Beetroot; if you happen to run across Thancred carousing in the streets, do let him know that I’d like a word.”

“Certainly,” Beetroot nodded. “He comes and goes from the Quicksand quite often on his… personal business; I shall keep two eyes out for everyone’s favorite man of the hour, as it please you!”

Linaria looked doubtfully at “_favorite,”_ but chose to let Beetroot be on his way. With an amicable farewell, she gathered her wherewithal, and stepped into the lobby of the building before her. She was immediately hailed from the hall to the right.

“Miss Stormchaser!”

Weaving her way through the many persons in the entrance hall, Linaria squeezed over to the officer that had called her. “Commander Swift,” she bowed formally. “Am I expected still?”

“Of course,” the commander nodded vigorously. “In fact; the General was hoping to speak with you before the ceremony. If you don’t mind coming with me right away, we shall seek him out.”

Not one to keep a person as important as Raubahn Alydnn waiting, Linaria took heed and followed Commander Swift into the building, straight across the training area, through the barracks, and into the General’s hall, before the ornate door emblazoned with the Syndicate’s sigil. Following a brief exchange with the doorman, the commander entered.

Linaria took that very brief opportunity to take a mental breath in preparation.

Her previous exchanges with the Flame General had been nothing but amicable; though she held him in great esteem for everything that he stood for and represented, she had managed to not shrink into a speck of aether in his actual presence.

He was somewhat of her hero. Raubahn Aldynn was the pinnacle of self-made men; hailing from the war-torn chaos of the Ala Mhigo, he had fought his way from the very bottom of the gladiator pits to prestige, so far as to not only buy his freedom but secure himself a seat on the Syndicate, as his right as one of the wealthiest persons of Ul’dah. But even for his position of great power, Raubahn was never a man of meaningless pride. Everything he did, he did for the Sultana; there was not a soul in Eorzea who could question his dedication to Nanamo, their bond stronger than a father and closest daughter, though they could not have hailed from paths farther apart. He had found something — some_one _to fight for, and that was the spark that kept his flame ever-burning.

It was his voice that called her attention. “Stormchaser — come in.”

Commander Swift slipped out of the solar and out of Linaria’s way, pausing only to give her a hurried salute before going on his way to attend to preparations. Nodding her thanks to the doorman, Linaria walked into Raubahn’s audience room.

Unlike Minfilia’s solar, Raubahn’s chamber was simple, minimalistic. The only decor consisted of a few samples of fine weaponry mounted on the walls, accompanied by a Flame tapestry. Raubahn himself stood behind a rugged-looking desk, littered with parchments that spilled onto the floor around it. Even from a few yalms away, his towering height dwarfed Linaria’s; to her credit, she kept her posture straight and met his eyes.

“Pardon the mess,” he muttered, “‘tis been a rather _anarchic_ few days in terms of military wherewithal. I thank you for coming to see me with such haste — I trust that your recovery went well?”

_So he had already been informed of the results from the Ifrit mission. _Linaria nodded. “Yes; though, if I may ask… what of those who were captured alongside me?”

Raubahn crossed his arms, his expression turning grim. “I’ll state it plain. Though I do not presume to know you as well as I would like, I do not believe that I would be doing you any favours by softening the truth.

“Three were found dead on the scene. As for the rest of the squadron, as well as the merchant and traitor, they were brought back to Ul’dah and examined by Urianger and Y’shtola, of your order… but there was naught to be done to reverse the enthrallment. And as such, for them to continue living with their very being bound to Ifrit would both be a cruel injustice to the men they once were, and a danger to all around them. For those under primal influence live and breathe for one purpose and one purpose alone: to serve their master, at all costs.”

Linaria dropped her gaze to the floor. “I understand.” She saw that many of the parchments littering the floor around Raubahn’s desk were scrawled with drafts of letters, crumpled and cast aside. “Have the families been informed?”

“Some.” Raubahn sighed. “But it is a difficult matter. To explain that their deaths, both those at the hands of the Amalj’aa and those by necessitated execution, are the result of the betrayal of one of our own…” he shook his head. “But to lament the difficulties of my position is neither productive nor conducive to my reason for wishing to speak with you. Come, if you will.”

He beckoned Linaria over to the mess of his desk, and sank into the well-worn leather chair as he pulled the drawers open and rummaged around for a moment. She laced her fingers together and stood in silence before the general, her mind far away from that small room. The image of Bedric’s young, frightened mind would not leave her at peace, and she felt the deepest of regrets.

_Was it wrong to have offered him assurance and hope? …What could I have done otherwise, what else had I to give?_

“Ah. Here we are.” Raubahn finally surfaced, holding a small metal object in his hand. “Now then. I’m sure that Minfilia has mentioned to you that there are many who would endeavor to court your acquaintance, so to speak. Pray understand that I make this offer with no strings attached; the Syndicate, Her Grace, and myself do not imagine that you owe Ul’dah any more favours. And I fully understand that your duties as a Scion must needs come first — but should you choose to accept, it would be an honor to name you Flame Captain Stormchaser.”

He held the object out to Linaria, and she saw that it was a lapel-pin, emblazoned with the black-and-gold symbol designating the rank of a commissioned Flame officer. She looked at it blankly for a moment.

_I don’t deserve this,_ was her foremost thought, just as it had been when Raubahn designated her his envoy to the other city-states. But to refuse in this case would be to turn her back on the men whom she had fought beside, the men and boy who had died on her watch. And if she were to accept, even if the insignia would do little more than sit in her dresser drawer collecting dust, it would always be a reminder; a reminder of those they had lost, the nameless men and women in the Calamity, in all the battles hence, and those she could yet fight for.

Decisively, she accepted the emblem. If she felt that she was not deserving of it, then she would serve until it was so.

Raubahn grinned. “Very well, then. Linaria Stormchaser, in honor of your services to Ul’dah and all the people of Eorzea, I, Raubahn Alydnn, confer upon you the rank of Flame Captain. May your soul continue to burn bright as we chase the darkness from the realm.”

She had no sword to draw and present to her general, but she raised her head and mirrored Raubahn’s pose; one arm behind her back and her right hand over her heart, clenched in a fist. “What I have to offer, I offer to you, and to Ul’dah.”

Raubahn admired the good form of her salute, before he chuckled heartily. “Hah! To think that you would actually accept without hassle. I am most pleased, Captain, and I look forwards to our camaraderie. If you are not otherwise indisposed this afternoon, will you attend the ceremony?”

“Of course,” Linaria took his casual turn as an indication to stand at ease, and adjusted her quiver. “Will I… need to get fitted for a uniform, and all that?”

“Nonsense,” Raubahn’s laughter was booming. “Unless you want one. Wear whatever the hells you’d like. Thal knows the Flame uniforms are hardly flattering. If you’d like a spot with me up at the front, just your badge will be enough.”

Fiddling with the token of her new standing, Linaria tucked it into one of the secure pockets of her tabard. “Yes, sir. I shall take my leave; since I’m sure there is much for you to attend to before then.”

“Oh, certainly,” Raubahn grimaced. “I’m a man of the sword, not a man of words. We’ll just have to pray that I’m able to speak to the peoples’ hearts and not make a fool of the Sultana’s image.”

* * *

_Three bells later._

The two Elezen youths stood near the front of the crowd that had gathered on the Royal Promenade, securing a good view of proceedings. Their space was facilitated by the wide berth the commoners gave to them; Elezen were not common in Ul’dah, white-haired Sharlayans even less so, and what the people of Eorzea were not familiar with, they were immediately distrustful of.

But the boy stood with his arms folded, self-assured in the space that he occupied. He wore a look of half-apathetic interest as he observed the gathered officials and the Sultana’s court. Though those around him nodded and even cheered along to the Flame General’s rousing speech, the boy did not join in on such reciprocal actions. Instead, he turned to the girl standing beside him, leaned up against a sandstone pillar and glaring at the floor as if it had wronged her.

“Alisaie,” he said, disdainfully, “you could at least _pretend_ to be paying attention. Or feign interest, to any extent.”

“To what end?”

She lifted her sour gaze to the boy; her twin brother, as it were, and her disapproving, cheerless expression was the polar opposite to the aloof countenance that the boy wore.

“To what end?” He echoed, and shook his head. “Dear sister, we are here to learn of this realm that Grandfather loved so dearly, are we not? So we must needs heed the words of the leaders of Eorzea’s proud city-states.”

“Oh please, Alphinaud. This so-called ‘remembrance ceremony’ is little more than a standard-waving rally.” She rubbed her arms in discomfort. Alisaie had no love of politics; but she had loved their grandfather, and to accompany her brother was to follow in Louisoix’s beloved footprints.

Alphinaud chuckled quietly. “Well, that’s to be expected. Speaking of standards; do note the sigil that flies behind the Sultansworn. The golden scales of order; balancing the jewel of prosperity and the flame of might, laid upon—”

“Spare me the history lesson,” Alisaie spat, “I haven’t suddenly let our days at the Studium fall out of my head.”

Not in the mood to bask in his sister’s venom, Alphinaud turned away with a resigned sigh, back to the ceremony at hand. Raubahn’s voice had gone solemn.

“Let us pray for our absent brothers and sisters, that they might know happiness in the great beyond, as Thal's honored guests. If the fates were fair, the price we paid that day would have bought us victory. Alas, they are not. And now, but five years into this Seventh Umbral Era, the spirit of sacrifice which granted us our strength is all but dead. Look around you. What do you see? A people divided, downtrodden and enthralled! Where are the merciful alms of the rich? Where is the just steel of the righteous? I ask you: is this the great nation our brothers and sisters gave their lives to save? You who call this ‘living’ dishonor the name of the Immortal Flames — it is but a slow death! Our enemies surround us. The savage hordes of the Amalj'aa wait beside our roads, strangling the lifelines of trade. Meanwhile, the Garleans make mock of our borders, and despoil our land of its natural wealth. We stand on a precipice... yet we do not act.”

Amidst the sudden hush and disconcerted looks being exchanged by the crowd, one of the officers by Raubahn’s side caught Alphinaud’s eye. The silvered markings on her cheeks had a faint sheen in the well-lit hall, and she was not dressed in the same garb as the others, save a light half-cloak thrown over her tabard. Her eyes were squeezed tightly shut, as if in pain, and she clutched her head.

“Hm.” Alisaie’s voice came from directly behind Alphinaud’s shoulder, and he jumped.

“When did you start standing there?” Alphinaud asked accusingly.

Alisaie spoke again, ignoring the fright she had caused her brother. “She’s not looking too well, is she?”

At that moment, the woman suddenly fell, crumpling to the ground. Murmurs of surprise from the officers around her caused a minor ruckus, with even the Flame General and Sultana turning around in alarm.

“The plot thickens,” Alphinaud chuckled. Alisaie glared at him.

“Leave it to _you_ to find this amusing,” she pushed past him, grabbing him by the wrist as she went. “Be useful.”

Irked at being ordered around, Alphinaud scowled, but reached for his white tome nonetheless as Alisaie plowed through the crowd, boldly blazing a trail right up to the group of frazzled officers surrounding their fallen comrade.

* * *

> ** _The sky was aflame. As her vision cleared, she saw the source – the red moon, descending towards the earth, wreathed in fire and emanating destruction._ **
> 
> _Carteneau._
> 
> ** _She found herself on a natural platform, a rocky plateau upon which the Grand Company leaders had made a makeshift base of operations. Admiral Merlwyb was barking commands through her linkshell; Raubahn and Kan-E-Senna similarly engaged._ **
> 
> ** _Kan-E-Senna froze abruptly. Seeing the Elder Seedseer’s discomfort, Raubahn turned to her._ **
> 
> ** _“Is aught amiss?”_ **
> 
> ** _The Padjal narrowed her green eyes, her grip tightening on her staff. Slowly, she turned, and looked to a distant cliff, at least half a malm away, upon which stood a black-robed figure._ **
> 
> ** _Linaria’s vision was pulled to Kan-E’s line of sight, and the Echo brought Linaria directly before the cloaked figure. He stared through her, and she saw him sneer under his red mask, shaped like a twisted skull._ **
> 
> ** _“That I should live to behold Bahamut once more…Magnificent. The aeons of imprisonment have only fueled his hunger.”_ **
> 
> ** _A second figure, identically clothed, appeared beside the first in a flux of dark aether. They spoke something just quiet enough that Linaria couldn’t catch it, and she crept closer, until she could see their red masks hollow-eyed in the half-light of the flaming skies._ **
> 
> ** _“Yes, I am aware of them.” The first man chuckled. “Pay them no mind. There is naught they can do now… it has already begun. Soon, this world shall return to its true form.”_ **
> 
> ** _He lifted his head then, and turned towards Linaria. Unlike before, where he had stared at the scene behind her, the way his lip curled in a mocking sneer sent a chill down her spine – she knew that somehow, he was looking at her very soul._ **
> 
> _How could that be? How could he possibly see me??_
> 
> ** _She couldn’t see the man’s face, but it felt as if their eyes met for a moment. Then he laughed, and the vision went dark._ **

Linaria bolted upright, her aching head not thanking her for it. She looked around in confusion – the Royal Promenade had been replaced by her room… at the Quicksand, by the looks of it.

“Thal’s bloody balls, Linaria!”

Lalafellian yelling confirmed the locale, as Momodi leapt from her chair with an indignant huff. “Don’t get up so suddenly like that after layin’ there like a corpse for a quarter-bell!”

“A quarter-bell?!” Linaria scrambled off the bed in alarm. “The ceremony, what—”

“You bloody fainted in the middle of it, that’s what!” Momodi put her hands on her hips. “Had Raubahn himself worried as a mother hen. Then we’ve got the bloody Leveilleur twins and their guards carting you here to me? This Echo of yours is quite the inconsiderate companion.”

“I’m so sorry for causing such a fuss,” Linaria mumbled. She blinked. “Wait, did you say _Leveilleur?_”

“Alisaie and Alphinaud – spitfire and smug as ever, respectively – in the flesh.” Momodi was still in a huff, but with her initial fright at Linaria’s sudden awakening passed, she had softened up a bit. “Long gone by now, mind you, but I thanked them on your behalf.”

_What a mess. So it seems Thancred was right, in saying that I would meet them soon,_ Linaria thought. _Though this hardly counts, since I don’t remember a moment of it._

“Quit lookin’ so miserable,” Momodi tutted,slapping Linaria’s wrist.

“S-sorry,” Linaria winced. “I’m quite fine now, I assure you.”

“Good. I’ll send word to Raubahn to let him know you’re not dead,” Momodi grinned. “Go on then; get on with whatever it is you’ve gotta get about. Gods know Minfilia keeps you all busy.”

Thusly shoo’ed out of the resting quarters, Linaria stood awkwardly in the hallway as Momodi strutted off with her ever-present stout sense of purpose.

Actually, Linaria hadn’t the faintest idea what she ought to be hurrying off to do herself, and rubbed her temples disconcertedly.

The door across the hall opened with a bang, and a gasp of delight came from within.

“Fancy seeing _you_ here!” Thancred staggered out into the hallway, his hair a tousled mess, cheeks tinged red with the glow of inebriation.

_Oh, gods._ Linaria’s headache heightened.

“What have you been up to?” She sighed. “I figured you’d be out romancing, given your lack of attendance at the ceremony.”

“Oh, I was,” Thancred shrugged, and grimaced for a moment. “Not without success, mind you. Lovely Hyuran girl, red hair, blue eyes—”

“You can spare me the details,” Linaria interrupted.

“She didn’t quite like it when I told her that the bad taste in my mouth was from her company and not the alcohol,” Thancred continued, undeterred.

Linaria’s eyebrows went up in surprise. “You, Thancred Waters, of the silver tongue, said _that_ to a woman.”

“’Twas the truth!” Thancred insisted. “I do not make a habit of bedding a lady when the mood is not right. What kind of tasteless mongrel do you take me for?”

“Not the choosy kind, if I’m honest,” Linaria was failing to stifle laughter by then.

“Do not mock me! You know not what troubles I’ve had plaguing my mind of the last day and a half, to make even the sweetest of pleasures taste amiss,” Thancred shook her shoulders as he pouted. He swayed dangerously, nearly throwing her off-balance with him.

Linaria couldn’t possibly toss him back into the room he’d come from as he was, drunk and depressed, so she sighed once more, slung her bow over the opposite shoulder, and looped Thancred’s arm over her neck. “Come on, then. Let’s get you home.”

Unceremoniously half-dragging him out of the Hourglass and through the Quicksand, it quickly became evident that _walking_ back to Vesper Bay was far out of the question. Hence, delving into the new pocket-gil procured by Beetroot, Linaria called for a carriage, and soon the two bards were rolling down the dusty, empty roads of Thanalan. The lack of traffic was likely due to the crowds that were condensed in Ul’dah for the ceremony and consequent festivities, and Linaria was glad for the quiet to spare her from the embarrassment of being seen with Thancred in his current state. 

As the only two passengers of the carriage – save Zephyr, who was perched watchfully on the railing beside the driver – Linaria and Thancred had a full bench to themselves; which was quite well and good, given how often the latter slumped over from side to side.

“I am quite dizzy,” he said on one arc of his wobbling, as he leaned towards Linaria. “Might I possibly rest my weary head upon your bosom?” Without waiting for a response, he continued to lean towards her chest.

“…Absolutely not,” Linaria pushed him forwards and away, only to have to grab onto his shoulder to keep his head from knocking onto the beam in front of them. Thancred plopped his head onto her lap, swiftly retrieving her hand from his shoulder and looping it around himself to secure his place.

Linaria nearly regretted her sentiment of goodwill and not having left Thancred to fend for himself. But looking down and seeing that he had swiftly fallen asleep, a satisfied half-smile on his face, she didn’t need the Echo to remind her that he had been the one to bear her to comfort and succor not a sun ago.

It was not so bad, she supposed, to be repaying that favor. Exhaling her defeat, she let Thancred keep her arm that he had taken hostage, and used her free hand to brush the tangled hair out of his face, to prevent him from inhaling it whilst snoring.

_Maybe he won’t even remember this on the morrow._

“I can barely call this making it even,” she said, mostly to herself, “but it’s a start.”

-

> _From the journal of Alisaie Leveilleur_
> 
> What a joke these city-states are. I find it hard to believe that these are the people that Grandfather gave his life for… but perhaps – no, _certainly,_ there is more to the people of Eorzea than filthy streets and false promises from the rich. There was not a single mention of the Warriors of Light in any of the remembrance ceremonies. The claims that their faces and names have been lost in memory must be true, if there is no one who can state otherwise, but to think that they did not even warrant a passing comment; the men and women who disappeared in the Calamity, who presumably gave _everything_ to protect the people, gone without a trace; and history would just as soon let them be forgotten for good.
> 
> It’s no wonder that all adventurers are the same now. Greedy. False. Prideful. Those who fight for false ideals of justice and the service of the realm are just as guilty as the enemies of Eorzea, their complacency with the modicum keeps true egalitarianism at bay. If it’s really down to Minfilia and her handful of Scions, I think it is folly to be hopeful that things will improve anytime soon.
> 
> Be that as it may, we did a good deed today – I hope that woman is all right. Krile used to get Echo pains as well, but I suppose some have it worse than others. We’ll probably see her again soon enough.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi readers! Thanks for coming back for another update. Been a crazy couple of months on my end, and Skye has been super busy being a super successful artist (featured in multiple zines which you should definitely check out on her social media) but we've finally got the chapter out! Hope you enjoy~!

**Chapter Five: Into the Woods**

As the spinning wheel slowed to a halt, Linaria examined the her crafted spool of thread briefly before tossing it into the crate of materials on the table beside her. It rolled around at the bottom with the hollow sound of wood-on-wood, clinking against the mostly-empty glass phials of enchanted sand, formula, and various ores.

“You’re not missing anything, are you?” Tataru hopped up on a stool to peer into the crate, twiddling her thumbs anxiously. “Oh, I _really_ should’ve called your link-pearl when the delivery arrived. But I thought you’d be too busy getting the rest of what you needed, and—”

“Don’t worry,” Linaria smiled. “Everything’s in order. I’m not making anything new, after all; just some repairs.” She smoothed out her tabard on the table, doing one final polish on the armored parts. Satisfied with her work, she set aside her tools and stood, brushing the snippets of thread off of her shirt. Tataru took hold of the crate of remaining materials.

“I’ll get someone to help me clean up; you don’t have to bother yourself with it!”

“Oh, that’s alright, I can manage… I wouldn’t want to trouble—”

The doors to the common area swung open, and in strolled Thancred, disheveled as he always was after a preceding day of carousing. He cleared his throat to get their attention. “Good afternoon to you two,” he greeted. “Tataru, if you wouldn’t mind; I have been sent by Minfilia to steal Linaria away. For a meeting, of course.”

“See? You have things to do,” Tataru insisted, rattling the crate at Linaria. “Go on, then! And leave that stuff here as well, I’ll make sure it gets dropped off in your room.

Linaria set the bundle of her gear back on the table, accepting help in defeat. As she walked over, Thancred trotted to keep pace, sustaining a winning smile and catching hold of her sleeve. Outside of Minfilia’s solar, he tugged her to a halt. “Hold a moment,” he requested.

“What is it?” Linaria said, not impatiently, in spite of his usual unsolicited closeness.

“Though I must admit that I have little memory of it, I’m told that you saw me safely back here last night. You have my thanks for not abandoning me to solitude in the Hourglass; ‘twould have been quite easy, and perhaps more convenient, to do so.”

“Well, it’s not like you left me behind in the dusts of Zanr’ak; think of it as merely repaying the favour.”

Thancred laughed. “Madame Momodi would be most displeased if she heard the comparison of her inn to the inhospitality of Amalj’aa territory.”

A smile tugged at Linaria’s lips. “I’m sure you understand my point.” Recalling his circumstances the previous night, for a moment she pondered asking what it was that had been bothering him so of late, but recalled that Minfilia was waiting for them. “Shall we?”

As they rounded on the hallway towards the solar, Linaria saw Papalymo and Yda turning kitty-corner across from them, but they were deep in conversation – or rather, Yda was excitedly talking Papalymo’s ear off, as always, whilst the Lalafell smiled and picked out points of value.

“Linaria, good day!” Minfilia called out. The Antecedent leaned against the doorframe to her solar, holding one side of the double doors open herself. “The guards are off on their lunch break, but I wanted to make sure that you knew to let yourselves in. Please, if you don’t mind—” she gestured for them to step past her.

Two chairs had been pulled up before Minfilia’s desk, and as she stepped lightly around and seated herself, Linaria and Thancred did the same across from her. “Are you feeling well enough to discuss your next assignment, Linaria?” Minfilia prompted.

“Yes,” Linaria nodded, “quite so.”

“I am most pleased to hear it.” Minfilia cast a discernible glance towards Thancred, but Linaria could not read the expression on his casually-set face. 

“Your next assignment will see you to the Black Shroud,” Minfilia was continuing, and once again, Linaria turned her attention away from Thancred. “Gridania, as a nation, has the circumstance of being neighbor to _two_ beast tribes: the Ixali, as well as the Sylphs. The former are a warlike tribe – not quite as militant as the Amalj’aa perhaps, but equally zealous to their Lady of the Wind, Garuda. But Kan-E-Senna would have the Scions look into the latter in this case, the Sylphs. Have you any prior knowledge of them?”

“The fae folk, yes?” Linaria pictured the forest spirits, from the depictions she’d seen long ago in her childhood storybooks. “Not personally, but secondhand.”

“Pray understand; such diplomatic measures necessitate the Echo,” Minfilia explained, “for the ability to reach these spirits of the forest in ways that the ordinary man cannot.”

Linaria nodded.

“Whenever you two are ready to be on your way, then; Commander Vorsaile Heuloix will be awaiting you with the Adders in Gridania.”

“Us two?” Linaria echoed. “I was under the impression that Thancred is the Scions’ man of Ul’dah…?”

“Oh, my apologies,” Minfilia said hurriedly, “I forgot to make mention: Thancred shall be officially assigned to work with you going forwards, if you have no objections. In the meantime, Yda and Papalymo will have Thanalan well-covered; Yda has many connections amongst the Ala Mhigans, and Papalymo is of no small rapport with the Sultana.”

Thancred’s silence throughout the conversation, paired with the hurried anecdote – which seemed to Linaria of much more import than it did to either Minfilia or Thancred – left Linaria awkward and bewildered, so she merely shook her head. “No objections,” she said distractedly. “I’ll go prepare to leave immediately, then… I just need to make a call to Beetroo— er, to my retainer, to let him know I will be away from Ul’dah once more.”

“I must needs make some arrangements as well,” Thancred spoke for the first time, in abrupt self-dismissal. “We shall be in touch, Minfilia.” With that, he stood from his chair and strolled out of the room, but the way he rubbed his thumb over the clenched fingers in his palms betrayed his tension.

“Look out for him, would you?” Minfilia smiled kindly, and Linaria turned back to the Antecedent. “I’m certain you know how to handle yourself no matter the locale, but Thancred can be a veritable babe in the woods. I pray he does not cause you too much trouble.”

* * *

After the arid heat of Thanalan, the Black Shroud felt suffocatingly _green_. The foliage and soft grasses lining the city-state’s streets, the tall trees laden with their evergreen canopies, and the small bubbling stream that encircled the aetheryte plaza bred a very different vibe from Ul’dah’s chiseled streets and towering buildings. Gridania was a place of the Twelveswood, rather than the Twelveswood belonging to the Gridanians. Even the Twin Adder’s headquarters was notparticularly distinct from the tradecraft guilds stationed nearby; aside from the sprawling yellow-and-brown tapestries bearing Kan-E-Senna’s sigil, the building was of the same wooden architecture as most others in the city.

Thancred looked around, letting out a sigh into the cool, crisp air. “Have you any desire to visit with any of your colleagues before we go about our business?”

Linaria blinked. “While I’ve been certainly cordial with Guildmaster Luciane and her apprentices when need be, I don’t particularly owe them much in terms of allegiances. I didn’t receive my training here at their guild, after all.”

“Ah, I see…” A frown crossed Thancred’s face. “Distant and stoic as ever.” As soon as the words left his mouth, he wondered what he had meant by such an offhand comment.

“Is that such a bad thing?” Linaria’s prick of offense was evident in her tone.

“Not necessarily,” Thancred forced a wry smile. “I certainly understand the freedom that comes from not binding yourself so readily to any particular organization. And I suppose for that I ought to be grateful for your extended contribution to our cause; I’m certain the Flame General feels much the same.”

“How sentimental,” Linaria jibed. “Glad I am of your approval.” Her annoyance at his original statement faded, and her teasing tone reassured him in equal measure.

Making their way to the Serpent headquarters, they found General Heuloix posted in the front hall, standing as stiff and rigid as the harpoon-lance strapped across his back. He saluted them formally. “I have been expecting your arrival — and on behalf of the Seedseer and her people, I thank you for your assistance. My men are occupied enough as it is dealing with the Ixal, and it shall be a great relief if we can mitigate a threat from the Sylphs.”

He went on to explain the current situation. “As of late, there had been a recent increase of reports regarding Sylphic mischief in the eastern part of the Shroud. That area is not largely populated aside from a trade-post and Serpent encampment built about the bee-keeping estate of the Hawthorne family; but the eponymous Hawthorne Hut is nearly adjacent to a Sylphic camp of sorts. We believe that its location at the borders of the Sylphlands would indicate that it is some sort of gatekeeping point into the rest of the faerie territory, and any _mischiefs_ that have befallen the locals might be for want of warding off trespassers.”

“Well… you can’t blame them there, can you?” Linaria wondered. “Surely the sentiment of Gridanians living in harmony with the Twelveswood extends to all of its denizens.”

Heuloix frowned. “_Harmony_ can be hard to attain when it comes to matters of primals, madam.” Linaria’s eyebrow twitched at _madam, _but she didn’t press the sentiment.

“Hm.”

Thusly, with a missive penned by the Elder Seedseer herself in hand, Linaria and Thancred soon found themselves on a ferry bearing them across the lake between Gridania and their destination; the Hawthorne Hut good a place as any to begin.

She set her bow down with Zephyr to guard it, and went with Thancred as he stretched his arms andsighed again heavily, wandering about the ferry’s deck. The absence of his usual travel-banter or perpetual conversation was finally enough for her to voice her concern.

“What’s on your mind, bard?” She prompted. Thancred rested his elbows on the guardrail, only halfway turning his head towards her.

“You of course, wildflower.”

Before Linaria could make an accusatory comment about silver-tongued lack of sincerity, she caught the distant look in his hazel eyes as he stared out at the water, mismatching with the characteristic smirk on his lips. Before she spoke, he shook his head and continued. “Honeyed words are one thing, and I’m sure you’re thinking – correctly so – that my sincere ones can be few and far between.”

Linaria leaned against the railing, studying him with guarded curiosity. As he had insinuated recently, she was much the same; not for contrast of tasteless flirtation, perhaps, but just as guilty of avoiding heart-to-heart interactions. She responded with a direct question, with contrasting firmness from her own wandering thoughts. “I’d appreciate if you would speak plainly, at least – what about _me_ is bothering you?”

He flinched as if she’d taken him by the shoulders and shaken him down for effect. The water against the ferryboat’s flanks sloshed by lazily, indicative of the unhurried pace that they made across the lake, and the amount of time they had left with nothing to do, during which she would almost certainly keep staring daggers at the side of his head until he addressed her.

“I suppose I ought to begin with context,” Thancred said, his voice forced. “I don’t know how much you’ve walked in my memories, but at risk of being redundant, I’ll keep it relatively brief:

“I was less than nothing, before Louisoix plucked me from the streets and into the Circle of Knowing – that’s what our order was called, before the Calamity. It was thanks to him that I received the Sharlayan education that I did, along with the opportunity to hone my skills otherwise. I happy to dedicate all of that to his cause — and it was rather fulfilling to be damn good at it, too. That is, until one operation gone terribly wrong. Fifteen years ago…my team and I failed horribly in an attempt at subduing a threat, and in the fallout, we lost one of our men, and a bystander was killed. That man was Minfilia’s father.”

Linaria’s silence prompted him to continue; he could not read her initial reaction.

“It was entirely my fault,” he said flatly. “Minfilia’s father ought to have been under our protection, but my oversight cost him his life and her the only family she had left. F’lhaminn took her in, and her name was changed – Garlean spies would find no further trace of the girl called Ascilia from that day onwards. But that was hardly enough. Perhaps you could say that I’m only with the Scions today in an attempt to make up for—”

“So that’s why you’ve worked alone since then, is it?” Linaria interrupted quietly. His last statement rang false; that much she knew from observing the kinship he shared with the other Archons. Perhaps his commitment to Minfilia had budded from obligation, but she would not listen to him invalidate the relationships he had built his comrades since. It suddenly clicked as to what was _really_ bothering him at present. “This is about the Amalj’aa,” she said aloud.

Thancred turned away and stared at the water again. She grabbed his wrist firmly, keeping him from pulling aside to sulk. “If you’re here with me right now as some sort of penance for failing to be by my side, then I ought to have turned you away when Minfilia suggested as such.”

He winced at the bluntness of her words, but she pressed on. “You can’t let yourself be forever beholden to the past. It can be a cruel world — but it keeps spinning, on and on, and there’s no time to be left behind, and no energy to waste on begrudging the past. I certainly hold nothing against you for whatever may have gone awry in Thanalan. If that’s not enough for you to simply know, then I’ll tell you this: if you feel that there’s anything you owe me, I request that you keep your mind to the present, even if only for the duration of this assignment.”

She spoke so plainly, and with such clarity, that Thancred could only stare back at her in awe. It dawned on him that his behavior of late, from his absence in the Waking Sands to his tryst in Ul’dah gone south of his own volition, had been one long train of self-pity; and Linaria was right. Regardless of all else, such indulgence had no place in their line of work.

“I’m sorry,” he managed.

“I know you are,” she replied, and her eyes flicked away from him for a moment as she realized the ferry was coming to a halt as they approached the dock. When she looked back, she allowed him a flash of sympathy, as she let go of her vice-grip on his wrist. “I suppose I’m sorry, too, for clucking at you like a mother hen.”

“I’m older than you, you know,” Thancred said, with a spark of his characteristic wit.

Linaria rolled her eyes. “Hardly. And you act like an air-headed boy, with your tasteless attitude towards romance, so you’d forgive me for not taking your _age_ seriously.” Thancred watched her step away and sling her skysteel bow over her shoulder as she kept a brisk pace across the lowered plank to the docks, expecting him to follow.

It would certainly take more than a single ferry-ride to mend the scars of the past, but her simple, plain words had served as a balm to his troubles. As he followed her onto the grassy slope leading up to the meadows, he felt gratitude tight in his chest, but he knew that to say more to the swinging ponytail ahead of him would only invoke a dismissive jibe. Shaking his head with a smile to himself, it struck him how _different _this was; trailing behind a woman in admiration was regular happenstance, certainly, but that feeling in his chest brought with it an interest that he had not known before.

* * *

Soon, they stood awkwardly in the Hawthorne family’s foyer, the light trickling through the windows tinted yellow-green by the foliage surrounding the hill that the so-called “Hut” was built into. Linaria rubbed the fluffy feathers on Zephyr’s chest as she did her best to maintain a patient smile at the domestic chaos before her.

“Ysabel Hawthorne…! I know my memory may not be nigh as well as it used to be, but that is no excuse to treat your father as some senile old fool!”

Rolfe Hawthorne, patriarch of his family, continued his tirade against the young woman standing defiantly before him, hands on her hips. Her leather apron was stained with sticky streaks of honey, and her mouse-brown hair was falling out of her messy bun as she shook her head impatiently. Rather than addressing Rolfe directly, she turned to the woman who stood between the Hawthorne family and Linaria, still holding the stack of empty bee-boxes that she had endeavored to retrieve and return to her work, before being waylaid by her husband and daughter’s quarrel.

“Mother! You know that I speak truth. It’s a wonder that we finally got people coming by, with how long it took to get a straight this-and-that out of Father!”

Rosa Hawthorne smiled apologetically at their visitors, before replying to her daughter. “Well, dear; we ought to be glad that your father’s stories are memorable enough that the locals could jog his memory, no? And this is hardly the time to be carrying on such a tiff.”

“Indeed!” Rolfe huffed. “A slip of the recollection aside, I am still somewhat of an expert on Sylphic behavior, you know.”

“_We_ know,” Thancred took the opportunity to validate, taking a step closer to the hot-headed girl with his best winning smile. “And all three of you are much appreciated in the assistance you are able to provide to the Gridanians – both in terms of intelligence passed to the Serpents, as well as services to the common man.”

Predictably, Ysabel blushed as the handsome stranger approached her. Linaria rolled her eyes, but was glad for Thancred’s interference. She cleared her throat and went to Rolfe. “At any rate – if you wouldn’t mind sharing a bit of that wisdom, we’d very much appreciate it. Matters are somewhat time-sensitive, after all.”

“Oh, yes, of course,” Rolfe stood from his seat hurriedly, and began to shuffle towards the pantry-shelves nearby. Linaria raised an eyebrow as he re-approached with a leaf-wrapped parcel in hand. “First of all: it’s in your best interest to approach them with an introductory gift.”

He handed the parcel to Linaria, and she cringed at the sticky residue clinging to the leaves. The sickly sweet smell hit her nose as soon as it was within reach. “What is it?”

“Milkroot!” Rolfe chuckled. “They’re quite fond of it; just be sure you don’t inhale too many of the fumes along the way. Additionally, you ought to know: the traditional greeting for the spritely little ones is a bit of dancing. You know how to dance, don’t you?”

Thancred looked over with interest, and saw the mortified look cross Linaria’s face. “Dancing…” she muttered.

“Oh, we’ll be fine,” Thancred said, going over and slinging his arm around her shoulders – much to Ysabel’s dismay, as the younger girl turned away with a disappointed pout. Eager to get going before Linaria could spend longer in her doubt and in the dangerously intoxicating proximity of the milkroot, he ushered her towards the door, calling thanks once more to the Hawthornes.

Coming to her senses as they exited the Hut, Linaria held the gift parcel at arm’s length. “Right, then… this ‘Little Solace’ is supposed to be the northeast, yes?”

“Quite,” Thancred confirmed. He eyed Linaria’s sticky fingers. “I’ll watch our backs, for any unfriendly creatures that attempt to waylay our travels,” he offered.

She scowled. “Do you think I’ve never gotten my hands dirty before?” But even as she said as much, she had trouble shifting her hands away from the leaves without unravelling the wrappings. “Ah. Fine, then.”

It was not long until the Sylphic settlement came into view. Unlike the Hawthorne Hut, which sat in a man-made clearing, Little Solace was nestled amidst the foliage and natural hillocks. Small nests of sorts were woven into the upper branches of strange, knobby trees, and on the ground were several brightly-colored, tiny tents. By the looks of the drapery and cloths adorning the shelters, Linaria presumed the Sylphs were fond of clothcraft; and quite skilled, in measure.

There was not much of a path leading up to Little Solace, but near the outskirts of the settlement, a single Sylph fluttered forwards to meet the approaching Scions. Its little wings fluttered curiously, and Linaria could not help but stare at the creature as it came fearlessly close.

The watercoloured portraits that she’d seen in the past did not nearly capture the Sylphs’ appearance. At first glance, the first comparison that came to mind was their resemblance to gyashl greens, the cabbage-like plants that the chocobos of Eorzea were so fond of; the layers of leaves adorning its body were shades of chartreuse and olive, while its face and hands were a bright mint-green. The creature’s shining black eyes studied the visitors up and down, before it spoke.

“Hm… this one has not seen these walking ones before. What are walking ones doing here?” He sniffed the air, and fluttered closer to Linaria. “Oh! Walking one brings a gift for this one?” It reached out its tiny arms hopefully.

_It’s so cute. _Linaria was too busy staring to react immediately, and Thancred gave her a nudge. “Oh, yes,” she offered the milkroot to the Sylph, who took it greedily, in spite of the parcel being nearly the same size as its body.

“This one is grateful!” he said, doing a little spin in the air.

In response, Linaria did her best to copy its motion, spinning around in the spot. Thancred stifled a snort of laughter. The Sylph blinked in confusion.

“Uh…” Linaria stood there awkwardly.

Heedless of her sticky fingers, Thancred took her hand, and spun her in a _proper_ pirouette. Much to her credit, Linaria did not lose her footing, though her composure had flown the coop, as she wore a look of utter bewilderment. 

Thancred laughed. “Follow my lead, wildflower,” he said under his breath. She turned towards him, bursting with uncertainty; but when she clung to his hand as if for dear life, he was filled with all the energy they needed.

He started with a sprightly few steps and hops, and Linaria mirrored his movements to the best of her ability. He spun quickly, deftly turning in the air, and guided her to do the same, catching her dramatically as she touched down. Watching this display, the Sylph giggled in delight.

“Walking ones are dancing ones! Dancing ones are _always_ welcome here. This one is called Komuxio,” he finally introduced himself, nodding his approval.

“I am Thancred, and this is Linaria.”

Peeling her hand off of Thancred’s and gathering what was left of her dignity, Linaria bowed to Komuxio in turn. “We were hoping to speak with your elder,” she said, procuring Kan-E-Senna’s missive from her lapel. “We have words for them from the Gridanians.”

Komuxio seemed unwilling to part ways with the milkroot to take the missive from Linaria, and for a moment a look of conflict crossed his little face. Before he could make a decision, a second Sylph zipped over.

“What is this one doing with these ones?” the second Sylph asked, more curiously than crossly. Her voice was distinctively female, and on her face she wore a golden leaf mask.

“Noraxia, look,” Komuxio held up the milkroot gift proudly. “Dancing ones bring nice things for these ones. They wish to speak with elder one. Has Noraxia seen elder one?”

“No; and this one is starting to worry,” Noraxia said, putting her hands on her leafy waist. “Elder one went out this morning and has not returned yet.

“Oh dear,” Komuxio echoed her concern.“And what of walking ones in woods?”

“This one does not wander around in deep woods! Upland woods between Little Solace and tempered ones’ land is full of bad things that would harm these ones. Strange walking ones are new problem, but not only danger!”

“Strange walking ones, you say?” Linaria said. She glanced at Thancred. “Perhaps we – er, perhaps _these ones_, can go investigate?”

Noraxia circled the Hyuran pair with scrutiny. “These walking ones bring weapons, too,” she noted, “and will _probably_ not die in the forest.” She nodded her approval.

“Good,” Komuxio agreed. “Then these ones will let dancing ones pass through. Come, dancing ones!”

Without dalliance, he began to lead the way into and through the village – for a village it was, as Linaria and Thancred saw many other Sylphs going about their business, and slipping in and out of their abodes.

“They spoke of ‘tempered ones,’” she commented, falling into stride beside Thancred. “Do you think that the Little Solace sylphs have made some sort of break with the Ramuh-bound members of their kind?”

“Perhaps so,” Thancred narrowed his eyes. “I wager we’ll know more once we’ve a chance to talk to their elder.”

The Sylphs watched curiously as Thancred and Linaria passed through, but with Komuxio and Noraxia leading them, they travelled unhindered. Just past Little Solace’s outskirts, they came to a long, narrow rope bridge that led into the deeper parts of the open forest. With a nod of thanks to their guides, Linaria took a step onto the swinging bridge, pulling her bow off of her back as she crossed.

Without her mistress needing to ask, Zephyr took off to scout ahead. No sooner than they had crossed the bridge, Linaria saw wandering, carnivorous plants roaming the woods, vines and tendrils blindly feeling about for prey. The ones nearby were small enough to be easily cut down by Thancred or sniped from afar, but further in they could see the towering shapes of Morbols, big as large trees, eyeless as the creatures that waded through the mud at their feet, with nothing but a gaping mouth full of teeth atop a writhing mound of tentacles.

Thancred shuddered involuntarily as he caught sight of the creatures while recovering one of his blades. Linaria nudged him onwards. “Come on, don’t be such a maiden. They’re far less frightening when they’re dead,” she said, and nocked an arrow as it glowed gold with magicks.

Before she could fire, they heard Zephyr call out from above, and the hawk reappeared through the trees, circling a large pine – in the _opposite_ direction of the Morbols, Thancred was relieved to note. Linaria dispelled the magic on her arrow and returned it to her quiver, tipping her head towards her bird. “Let’s see what she’s found.”

They stepped lightly through the undergrowth, sneaking past what creatures they could to draw as little attention as possible. The trees and thick-leaved plants grew denser and denser as they went deeper into the woods, but through the narrow gaps in the greenery, Thancred caught sight of movement. He gestured for Linaria to stop, and together they peered around the trunk of a gnarled oak, weapons at the ready.

Voices were clearly audible, from the seven men bumbling through the brush a few yalms away – and by their accent, they were certainly _not_ Gridanians. They were clad in grey-and-red shortrobes and matching helms, with various weaponry hanging off of their belts or strapped across their backs. The group surrounded a towering magitek walker, from which spewed a thin wisp of black smoke. It sparked and fizzled pathetically, slumped over like a wounded animal…its presence, paired with the uniforms, was enough to confirm that the strangers were Garleans, belonging to a nation bordering Eorzea with little love between.

“This is what you get for trying to run ‘er on an empty tank of fuel,” one of the men was growling. “Now we’re stuck out here in these godsforsaken woods waiting for a bloody _rescue_ team.”

“Don’t exaggerate,” the Roegadyn beside him scoffed. “We just need’a wait for a new tank of ceruleum, and we’ll be right on our way again.”

Linaria narrowed her eyes, and the whirr of her bow caught Thancred’s attention.

“I don’t like the looks of this as well as you do,” he muttered, “but hold a moment longer. They’re more likely to blather on amongst one another than if we take them out and attempt an interrogation.” Linaria gave the smallest of nods, watching Zephyr settle into the branches far overhead.

Not that the Garlean patrol seemed to be doing too well for themselves on Eorzean soil, in their current predicament, but seeing them so far from their border with Eorzea, Linaria and Thancred were left on edge, reminded of the ongoing tensions with the Empire. Linaria watched silently as they floundered and bickered about.

“Say,” a lanky lancer sniffed, looking around. “The other contingent oughta be here by now, don’t you think? Maybe we can ask ‘em if they’ve got some fuels to spare.”

“With how trigger-happy their captain is, I’d be surprised if they haven’t burnt up all their own ceruleum,” the first man laughed dryly. “‘Sides, they’re probably busy messin’ around with the forest spirits. Glad _we _don’t have to—”

His voice caught in his throat, turning into a high-pitched squeak. Then the man seemed to suddenly disappear, shrinking down into the undergrowth – and a second later, a green-striped Colibri fluttered up in distress. Thancred gaped, and swung himself up to a branch to get a better vantage point on the unfolding situation.

“Ewuld??” The Roegadyn shouted at the bird, which flapped its wings indignantly, clicking its beak. “Hells— GAH!”

As he spoke, the magitek walker disappeared in a puff of smoke, and in its place a massive ochu appeared, poison-tipped tendrils reaching out to the remaining men. Shouting in alarm, they drew their weapons, but before they had time to strike, several more puffs of smoke and lights burst amongst them, and various unfortunate events unfolded. One by one, the Garleans were whisked off of their feet by suddenly animated trees, sucked into the ground itself, whipped aside by the ochu, or simply vanished in a twinkle of lights.

The yelling faded out, absorbed by the dense greenery, and the only sounds remaining were the ochu slurping down the lancer’s spear, and the panicked squawking of the Colibri fleeing into the trees. Little lights twinkled in the air once more, but instead of the men reappearing, a pair of Sylphs appeared, giggling to one another.

Unlike the Sylphs of Little Solace, whose leafy bodies were the colors of the forest, these Sylphs were an unnatural shade of purple, and crackling lightning magicks sparked in the air around them. If it was possible for a Sylph to look smug, the pair sniggered as they watched the ochu wander away, once it had finished its meal.

“Serves nasty walking ones right!” one crowed in triumph, spinning in the air.

“More will come soon,” the other said, but not a hint of worry clouded its voice. “This one is satisfied with today’s fun. Shall these ones go back?”

The first Sylph shrugged. “This one thinks that idea is boring. But these ones’ could use a rest. Fine, these ones will leave for now.” As Thancred and Linaria watched, the Sylphs fluttered nonchalantly through the trees, even deeper into the forest.

Crashing sounds through the undergrowth heralded the arrival of more Imperials, and Linaria crouched lower to the ground, painfully aware of her attire standing out amidst the undergrowth. Above, Thancred pressed himself against the tree trunk, training his eyes on the new Garlean contingent.

The leading centurion adjusted his helm nervously.

“Lord Nero, sir! Report: no sign of Beta Squadron!”

A man in red Garlean armor strolled into view, his dragon-like helm tucked under an arm. His eyes were cold and empty, as desaturated as his pale complexion and hair, and he looked around with disinterest. Thancred immediately recognized him: Nero tol Scaeva, a well-known Tribunus of the XIVth legion. Thancred set his jaw as Nero spoke.

“Well, that’s too bad, I suppose. I was hoping they’d caught wind of our wizened friend.” He sighed. “Loathe though I am to admit it, we have yet to find any sign of that accursed eikon. I say… what good is a god who does not grant one's wishes? Were I a sylph, I should strongly consider finding myself another idol. Which reminds me; what of the sylphs we captured? A handful of them seemed to be in reasonably good health when last I looked.”

The centurion shuffled his feet. “A-ah, apologies, my lord. I fear we may have been... overzealous in our efforts to compel them to summon their eikon.”

Nero rolled his eyes. “Really, boy. were you not aware that vegetables bruise easily? It is well that I did not entrust you with the important task of making my dinner. Well, mayhap it was a kindness. Better dead in truth than dead to one's own god, I suppose... if you believe in such things. Come. Let us withdraw from these useless woods, before we manage to alter the Gridanians of our presence.” Sniffing in distaste, he settled the draconic helmet onto his head, and the contingent disappeared back into the forest.

Linaria had half a mind to chase them down, but Thancred hopped down beside her and shook his head. “It would be imprudent to raise tensions between our nations with what they would doubtlessly see as an ‘unprovoked’ attack. Minfilia would most certainly disapprove of our intervention.”

“They were trespassing on Gridanian land,” Linaria said pointedly, but shoved her arrow back into her quiver nonetheless. With a shrill whistle, she called Zephyr back to her side. “Regardless, we should appraise Komuxio of what we’ve observed.” Her expression turned dark, and a sickening feeling sank into her chest as she thought of the fate that befell the captured Sylphs.

* * *

Komuxio fluttered to and fro anxiously, while Noraxia quivered in rage. She clenched her tiny fists. “Walking ones cannot be trusted! This one will make the nasty ones pay for the lives of these ones.”

“Elder one said that these ones should not judge too hastily,” Komuxio said uncertainly, “There are bad ones amongst the walking ones, but walking ones Linaria and Thancred are not so bad; there are good ones also.”

“This one is not convinced!” Noraxia’s voice was laced with venom, and she flew right up into Linaria’s face. “Walking ones should leave this place. These ones need to find elder one before bad things happen to elder one. Komuxio, come!”

Making a point to flick Linaria dismissively across the cheek with a long-leafed wing, Noraxia spun around and zipped away hastily. Komuxio looked at the two Hyur regretfully, but did not say more as he followed his friend.

Linaria sighed in frustration. “So much for the dance diplomacy,” she muttered.

“Now now,” Thancred offered her a reassuring, confident smile. “We needn’t give up yet. It would be prudent to quit this immediate place, but I think we could do well to help them track down their elder. If it concerns the Garleans, it concerns us Scions, after all.” He was pleased to see Linaria brighten a bit at the prospect of having more to do, and she nodded in agreement.

“Let’s split up for a bit,” she suggested. “Some of the locals, if not the Serpents posted about the Shroud, ought to have caught a glimpse of Garleans chasing a sylph around.”

“Loathe though I am to leave your side, your words have wisdom,” Thancred sighed dramatically. “Very well, wildflower – do promise to not abandon me in the woods, please.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

* * *

A bell or so later, Linaria was standing outside the foreboding entrance to an old cave system, attempting to direct Thancred to her location. His voice came through with distress over the link-pearl.

**“Honestly!” **he complained, **“All of this accursed forest looks exactly the same. Trees, and trees, and trees, and more— oh! There you are.”**

Emerging through the bushes – although there was a clearly marked path nearby – Thancred stumbled out before her. She plucked a stray twig out of his hair, unimpressed. _A babe in the woods, indeed,_ she thought.

“So,” he said, with what pride he could muster, “what’s this ‘Toto-Rak’ you’ve found?”

“According to the locals,” Linaria began, “it was once used as a gaol for Gridania’s more foul criminals – arsonists, poachers, and the like. A newer gaol closer to the city a few decades ago brought about its abandonment…and now it seems to be inhabited by the sort of creatures after which it was once named.”’

“Ah. The beast of Padjali folklore, was it?”

Linaria nodded. “I suspect that’s somewhat of an exaggeration, though… At any rate, I heard from a hunter at the Druthers rest-stop that he recently saw a group of Garleans chasing _something_ this way. So long as you’re not averse to spiders and other insect-kin; shall we?”

“Wildflower, have you _seen_ the scorpions we get in Thanalan?” Thancred frowned. “I assure you, I shall be able to handle myself. Although…” he smiled coyly, “you _will_ protect me, won’t you?”

She sighed. Brushing Zephyr off of her shoulder and ignoring Thancred, she instructed the hawk to stay outside, for fear of her feathered friend ending up tangled in sticky webs somewhere deep within the caves. Bow in hand, she made for the entrance, kicking open the old iron-studded door that rotted off of its hinges.

Inside, glowing fungus coated the walls of the caves, providing dim, ambient light. Groundwater dripped through holes in the roof, coalescing into stalactites and stalagmites in the larger caverns, and pooling in green, foul-smelling liquid within thinner walkways. True to Linaria’s prediction, the two bards encountered more than a few overgrown diremites and poisonous plants along the way; but with the magicks between the two of them, any poisonous afflictions were easily cast away. Eventually, they came to a branching path in the tunnels.

“I’ll take the right; you head down the left,” Linaria decided.

“Judging by how the warding songs echoed down the tunnels, I expect we’ll be able to call out if we find anything.” Thancred agreed. “See you shortly, then.”

Linaria’s route took her down a winding path that ended in a huge iron door. _Some sort of torture chamber? _She heard a skittering from behind, and turned to cut down the diremite that was attempting to creep up on her. After retrieving her arrow, she approached the door once more, put her hand on the rusting handle, and pushed cautiously. To her surprise it opened without resistance, as if it had been well-oiled from recent use.

From beyond, she felt a wave of inexplicable darkness, like an evil aura pouring forth. Nocking her arrow, the tip still coated in vilekin blood, she began to tread lightly, passing through the door.

The narrow tunnel opened up into a large chamber a few yalms down. Along the walls, old spider pods were covered in the glowing moss and surrounded by sickly green pools; the entire ceiling was coated in thick webbing, illuminated by the phosphorescent glow below. In the centre of the chamber, a black-cloaked figure stood with their back turned to her.

Linaria hopped down the ledge leading into the chamber and drew her bow. “Turn around,” she demanded.

The figure chuckled. They spoke in a strange tongue, a language that echoed in her mind rather than her ears; even without seeing their face, Linaria felt the dread of recognition.

**_“So… the slayer of Ifrit now comes to me…with a countenance that bespeaks understanding.”_** As they addressed her and looked at her, she saw that they were the same person she had witnessed in her vision of Cartenau.It was the first man, the one with the twisted red mask — but even as he spoke, Linaria was unsure that he was truly a _man; _yet she hadn’t a notion of what sort of being he might be otherwise.

**_“An intriguing power, the Echo,” _**he continued. **_“I must needs choose my words with care. Mayhap if I might deign to speak in your crude tongue.”_**

He lifted his head, but no light reached his face beyond the red mask. A chill ran down Linaria’s spine, and she kept her bowstring taut.

“We meet at last. I am Lahabrea, of the Ascians, servant to the one true god.” He took a step closer, and Linaria leveled her aim.

“Stay where you are,” she threatened, and Lahabrea scoffed. He waved his hand, and a black flux of magic swirled up around her, pulling her arms to her sides. Her arrow flew off into the ceiling, lodging itself amongst the webs, and she found herself rooted to the spot.

Lahabrea approached, and tipped his head to the side, examining her face closely. He had no scent, and even at that closed distance, she could not make out any distinguishing features from the shadows around his mask. “Yours is a most fantastical tale, though you may not believe yourself special yet. It is a tale to tell Eorzea’s children before bedtime. But it shall soon be dark, Bringer of Light. All that stands between this world and Darkness is an irksome anomaly in the aether: the Echo. And thus, like all good stories… yours must come to an end.”

Linaria’s head throbbed.

> ** _Hear. Feel… the presence of evil._ **

As she heard Hydaelyn’s voice, Linaria felt the grip of Lahabrea’s magic loosen slightly as she struggled against it.

Lahabrea laughed, his voice echoing around the chamber. “For the end of your story is the beginning of another: the story of the Crystal’s demise!”

He turned away, and a dark portal opened before him. As he stepped through it, his laughter faded away; in his place, a massive beast began to materialize.

Linaria gritted her teeth. The beast was shaped like a giant insect, with flesh dark and mottled, and the end of its scorpion-like tail hooked in a cruel scythe at least three fulms in length. It hissed, seeing its prey trapped before it, and began to scuttle forwards.

At the last possible moment, Linaria broke free of the magical fetters, and barely managed to slip to the side before the bladed tail buried itself in the stone where she’d stood a second earlier. The tail clipped the side of her bow as she dodged, and it flew from her hand, skittering across the floor. She lunged after it, but the creature chased after her, clipping her side with the flat of its blade on the next swing. She felt a dull crack in her ribs as it winded her and threw her off-course, spilling half the contents of her quiver across the cave floor.

She tried to roll to her feet, but as the sharp pain in her side hindered her movement she faltered, and the creature was upon her. Looking up into its dripping fangs, she managed to whip an arrow out from under her, and grasping it by the haft, thrust it up into the gaping jaw before the beast could sink its fangs into her.

It reeled back, letting out an ear-piercing scream and leaving a splatter of vibrant green blood in its wake. Linaria took the opportunity to force herself to her feet and retrieved her bow. As the creature writhed, Linaria bit her lip to ward off the discomfort in her broken rib and loosed an arrow between its many eyes. The bolt found its mark, burying itself square in the centre of what could be called the creature’s face – but it did not falter. Its anger only seemed to grow as it screeched again, clawing at the red-and-white fletching protruding from its middle eye.

The bladed tail flashed in the hazy light, and Linaria tensed in anticipation for her foe’s next move – then a familiar shout and a sickening crunch filled the room, and the tail fell from the creature’s body, spewing more of the creature’s green ichor across the cavern floor.

Before the tail hit the cavern floor, in the same leap, Thancred grabbed onto the plating on the creature’s back carapace, his shortsword dripping with poisons. Bewildered by this new adversary and caught off-guard by his sudden appearance, the creature reared and screamed once more, its good eyes rolling wildly in an attempt to get a lock on Thancred. As it reared up, Linaria loosed a magicked volley of arrows, blinding the beast, and Thancred’s blade found its way into the base of the creature’s neck, silencing its screeching in one move.

Linaria felt a strange mixture of relief and disappointment at how quickly it was dispatched, as she let the next arrow she’d drawn clatter back to the ground. Thancred slid off of the creature’s corpse as it slumped to the ground, slowly fading into specks of dark aether; as soon as it had vanished, he ran to her side.

“Thank the gods I made it in a more timely manner this round,” he muttered. “Are you alright?”

“I will be,” she replied, “I’ve had worse, that much I can assure you…”

Linaria saw a movement in the webbing above them, and a pod-shaped object beginning to fall. She grabbed Thancred by the collar and yanked him forwards into her — but before he could get any wrong ideas to accompany the smirk on his face, a loud _-pop-_ filled the air.

“Ah! Finally, this one can get some fresh air.”

Floating down gently, remnants of the pod glittering into dust as it descended, a Sylph tipped its head to look at the two bards standing very close together. Unlike the Sylphs in Little Solace, it was a paler green, had a long, braided leafy pile upon its head, and wore a tiny pair of spectacles, through which it peered at Linaria and Thancred.

“These walking ones have done away with the dark one, and many-legged one? This one thanks you. This one is called Frixio, eldest of these ones at Little Solace.”

“Oh, how convenient,” Thancred brightened, resting his hands casually on Linaria’s shoulders. She made to move away, but was once again hindered by her injury; she settled for a disgruntled, quiet huff of discontent.

Frixio seemed to notice as much, and smiled kindly as he fluttered closer. “Is walking one alright? This one would know – what brings walking ones to this place?”

As Thancred explained the origins of their investigation, Linaria began to feel a bit faint. Perhaps it was the toxins in the air, or perhaps her splintered rib had begun to puncture somewhere it shouldn’t be, but she stumbled slightly, and found herself leaning heavily against Thancred.

To his credit, he completed his explanation without interruption, only stabilizing her as subtly as possible. Frixio nodded as he spoke. “This one owes walking one a debt of gratitude for walking ones’ rescue, then – and would be pleased to provide answers to walking ones’ questions about Lord Ramuh. But first, let these ones quit this lightless place. Let this one accompany walking ones outside!”

The Sylph elder flew ahead purposefully. Linaria let out a grunt of frustration at her inability to follow suit, especially eyeing the tall ledge that she had leapt down with such ease before.

“You’re not going to make it over that without a hand,” Thancred said, and ducked his head under one of her arms, slinging it across his back and hovering his other hand around her side.

“You are being very _coy_, and ‘this one’ thinks it is most unbecoming of Thancred Waters,” Linaria grumbled, but he felt her obligingly shift her weight onto his shoulders. “Just this once, we’ll have it your way.”

With a poor attempt to hide his grin, Thancred secured his grip around her waist. “Just this once,” he echoed, and helped her along as they slowly made their way after the Sylphic elder.

* * *

> _Elsewhere._
> 
> **“Lahabrea… you have erred greatly in your judgment, to underestimate the Bringer of Light. She yet lives, for your dismissal and premature departure.”** ****
> 
> **“Hmph. It is no matter. We will be rid of such troubles soon enough, one way or another.”** ****
> 
> **“You must work hard to make up for this shortcoming. Take heed of my warning – what seems the path of least resistance will not profit us indefinitely.”** ****
> 
> **“Heh… worry not, _Emissary_. You need only watch; I will break her, and all she holds dear.”**


End file.
